Machine Heart
by AFanWhoFeelsThings
Summary: AU. 2077. [Rick/Michonne] After losing his partner (and, secretly, the love of his life) Michonne, renegade peacekeeper Rick Grimes wakes up one surreal day to find that she has been reanimated as a perfect cyborg replicant of his love. As REPLICANT Michonne learns to be human, he falls in love all over again. SCI-FI/SMUT
1. prologue: the boys are back in town

_Written to the musical score of..._

-'The Terminator Theme (Extended Version)', Brad Fiedel

* * *

Preface

 _The year is 2077._

 _After the tragic fall of societies worldwide and long years of bloody conflict among the Earth's survivors, the defeat of the walkers yielded the discovery of a new technology._

 _The birth of artificial intelligence. Cybernetic sentience._

 _With the aid of this innovation human survivors colonized, rebuilt, and forged a new world out of the ashes of the old one. One of brilliant lights, intimidating towers, advances in weaponry and machinery the likes of which the modern world had never seen, and a bold, terrifying new understanding - not to mention command - of life itself._

 _The world sprung up anew, and in what was once America, two territories remain locked in a perpetual battle of wills. The Safe Zone, and the Gates of Hell._

 _The Safe Zone is a brilliant city of towers, wonders, and nouveau indulgences. It's patrolled day and night by some of the world's most effective peacekeepers. Including the legendary Rick Grimes, his partner Michonne Snow, and his tightknit unit, reverently branded The Family._

 _They are due this reverence in part because they are the last completely (mostly) human peacekeeping unit remaining in the world._

 _The Gates of Hell may as well be the Thunderdome. Here, the worst of humankind (along with walker and cyborg, too) fight for not just survival, but dominance. Chaos and violence reign under the deranged, watchful eye of the leader of The Saviors, Negan. In his world, he is the ringmaster, blood is shed for sport, and everyone tunes in on time._

 _Since the walkers have given birth to artificial intelligence, the Powers That Be allow their paranoia of another world's end to drive them in its use. They plug this new technology into everything. And as the years pass, their control of the new life they've discovered slips, under their very noses. So vigilant, they're rendered blind._

 _Tonight, the first strike in a new war begins. The war between man and machine-kind._

 _The world doesn't know it yet, but Rick Grimes will be its savior._

 _Rick doesn't know it yet either, but one woman - or rather, the cyborg replicant of the woman he's loved since the day they met - will become_ _ **his**_ _savior._

 _But first...he must fall._

* * *

 ** _[Booting]_**

 ** _..._**

 ** _Safe Zone City Cloud Archives.._**

 ** _5/12/2071..._**

 ** _File Code: GATUS.._**

 ** _..._**

 ** _21:06_**

If you weren't paying too much attention, the B-District Peacekeepers precinct on the twelfth level of Alexandria City (a.k.a. The Safe Zone) was going about business as usual.

It was a cozy, tightknit precinct, you might observe. It was merely a series of tunnels with rooms carved out for various functions - arms lockup, forensics lab, training gym, gun range, shower and locker room, and the bullpen where calls came in from every level, just about. Except the Skyscraper at the tip of the T-District, of course. That was patrolled by a special force, handpicked by Mayor Monroe.

If you walked into the B-DP, you'd see it's worn, frayed edges clinging to the rusty but still brilliant combo of old and new tech, marking the place of its history. A small band of misfits ran the joint, but the glue was The Family. Rick Grimes and Michonne Snow's pride and joy.

The Family kept this place running. Kept The Bottom and the levels above defended against walkers, malicious cybernetic hybrids, criminals, maniacs and any number of other threats.

So you might think things were business as usual - calls coming in, conversations being had, the latest episode of _The Grid_ on repeat, as was the night shift's way. Negan's maniacal, grinning face, followed by mute violence on the holoscreen in the bullpen.

Until you caught the sound of a practically _ancient_ song - Thin Lizzy's 'The Boys Are Back In Town' - wafting out to the common area, that is. And noticed the steam beginning to seep into the atmosphere from the shower room down the main tunnel.

And inside, Abraham Ford's booming voice could be heard above the blasting music: " _GODDAMN_ , I love my job!"

Stick around a little longer, and you'd see that this was business as usual, too.

Ensconced in the thick plumes of hot, sticky steam from the large shower chamber in the locker room, six of the twelve members of The Family were cleansing themselves of their latest fight. And Abraham loved his classic rock after a good old fashioned, nasty, hellacious roundup. Blood, dirt, road grease and lord knew what else washed away at their flip-flop clad feet, down the drain as he howled the lyrics of the song at the top of his lungs:

 _Guess who just got back in toooown today!_

 _Those wide-eyed boys that've been awaaay!_

 _The boys are back in town!_

 _Yeah, the boys are back in tooow-oown!_

The music blasted from their COMPANION™ LIZZY's surround sound, shrouding them in bass, treble, and upbeat, zinging guitar riffs. The hard-fighting team let the music lift their fatigued spirits and indulged in the high of the hunt and capture before they took an extended break for the night to let the others take over their shifts.

"Yeah, yeah - me too, now pipe that tonedeaf shit down a bit, will ya?" Rick rolled his eyes and winced tightly against the sound of Abe's terrible singing, the blasting music, and the steamy water cascading over his neck and shoulders.

He couldn't help a surreptitious grin at his buddy's elation, though. Rick was usually the grouch of the operation, so he was secretly grateful to Abe for keeping everyone's morale up.

Next to him (grinning and mouthing the words as he shook his face and hair out under the rushing water like a puppy) was Rick's best friend, Shane Walsh. Then Shane's girlfriend, the hotheaded, blonde sharpshooter Andrea Jones. She ignored everyone as she stood with her hair hanging behind her to rinse out her shampoo, eyes closed, gathering her peace to her in the blanket of steam. Across from her, Abraham (ignoring just Rick) scrubba-dub-dubbed with bubbles aplenty as he bellowed and washed himself vigorously. As was his way, he was energized and anxious to meet up with his little darlin' Sasha so he could plant a big, sloppy kiss on her.

Next to him, Glenn washed out his jet black hair, soap getting in his eyes, tapping his foot and swaying his narrow hips a little to the beat. He, too was eager for some face time with his girl and their team member, Maggie Greene. She was out on patrol of the upper M-District with Sasha, Mike, and Rosita.

" _I_ like your singing, Abe. Keep it up." Two stalls down from their serenader, the slick, pearlescent bubbles falling across her flawless body like a frothy waterfall, was Michonne Snow - lovingly nicknamed The Samurai for her refusal to use anything but an old souped up katana in hand-to-hand combat.

Snow was also mouthing the words passionately with her lovely heart-shaped lips, in her zen space, soaping herself as her muscles relaxed. Her locs hung down her back as she ran her hands through them, letting them breathe, ridding them of the soot, blood and gunsmoke from her job.

Behind her, his back to her, Rick felt the music and everything else drop away as he tried and failed to ignore her. Showering was their ritual after work, but in all three of the years they'd been partners, Rick could never bring himself to look at Michonne like that in front of people. Not for longer than a few captivating seconds when no one was paying attention, anyway.

He had never uttered the words aloud, but he found his partner to be one of the sexiest creatures he'd ever seen on hell's scorched earth. Not only was she a fierce fighter and brutally efficient peacekeeper, she was _gorgeous_ , with a perfect, _perfect_ body. She was whip smart, funny as hell, and tough as shit since she'd survived a world of hurt to get to where she was at just thirty years old. Most humans from their time didn't live that long. She was a _survivor_ , just like he was, like they all were. Except before she'd stumbled upon them, she'd done it all on her own. At least Rick had had his family - Lori, Carl, the others, and now baby Judith. Michonne had no one. Not even her son anymore, when they'd met three years ago.

But _damn_ , none of that could dim her beautiful, dazzling smile.

After witnessing firsthand what she was capable of for three tumultuous yet bonding years, Rick had grown to respect Michonne. He trusted her with his life.

He was attracted to her. No, more than that.

He was falling in love with her.

Day by day...slowly but surely.

That was complicated for a number of reasons.

She was his partner and best friend, not his girl.

She was dating their fellow peacekeeper, Mike.

And he was a married man.

So Rick ignored it all. His feelings, their situation. Her intimacy with Mike in front of him.

Instead he just gritted his jaw and put his hands against the warm, wet tile. He tried to let the water wash away his disconcerting thoughts. The music echoed and crescendoed around him, and he tried not to picture himself in here alone with Michonne.

Swallowed by steam...fucking her like an animal against the slippery walls.

"Hey. _Psst,_ Rick." Shane nudged him with a pruny elbow. Rick forced his eyes open (abandoning the fantasy that had invaded his mind anyway) to look over at his tall, handsome friend. Shane grinned at him, running his hands through his wet hair to get the water and his thick, dark bangs out of his face. "Pencils down, buddy. Lori don't get off 'til past oh-one hundred, there, stud."

Rick rolled his eyes and clenched his jaw at Shane's mischievous wink. The hardened gunslinger had a poker face like the best of 'em, but he couldn't hide how he felt from Shane. And he certainly couldn't hide the evidence of his developing erection, not even in the steam. It didn't help that Shane was an asshole about it at the best of times, either.

"Fuck you." Rick muttered, done with his shower.

"That's _my_ job…" Andrea deadpanned, walking up to Shane naked in the steam. She nuzzled his muscular shoulder and wrapped her arms around his strong torso.

Rick turned away as they kissed happily and stalked in a bow-legged stride toward the locker room.

Michonne could see him retreating out of the corner of her eye, and she breathed a tiny sigh of relief, inhaling the minty scent of the cleansing solution in the water. Good. He was finally gonna put some damn clothes on and stop distracting the hell out of her.

Being around Rick these days was an exercise in serious self-restraint. She tried to pretend she wasn't watching him go, admiring his cute, dimpled little ass and his long, sturdy legs. That leaning cowboy's gait of his...those taught muscles carved into him like he was made of marble. Those wet, thick curls at the nape of his neck and his eyes...that thick, swinging dick with a perfect, pink head...

She didn't know when it happened, she mused as she finished up her wash and rung out her hair. When exactly she'd started secretly falling for Rick. She couldn't pinpoint the moment that she starting looking at him and _really seeing_ the galaxies burning in those fierce blue eyes of his. But she knew how it felt.

For weeks, now, whenever they weren't fighting or hunting or answering to The Powers That Be, she'd been feeling herself wanting to be closer and closer to him. Close enough to kiss. And _keep_ kissing, until it turned into something more.

It was all very inconvenient. And aggravating.

"Party pooper!" Andrea called after Rick, her sea green eyes glinting, now thoroughly relaxed from the down time.

The night had just started. She was satisfied from her kills, relaxed, horny, and ready to get drunk. She just wished her boss would stop being a stiff old bore and loosen the fuck up for once. Yeah, his eighteen-year marriage was in the shitter, he was getting older, and he had a secret (Andrea's ass) crush on his partner. But sooner or later the dude was just gonna have to say 'fuck it' and let the chips fall where they may.

"I keep forgettin' how well you know me, 'Drea." Rick retorted in a sarcastic drawl.

Their leader tossed a crooked, unaffected grin over his shoulder as he grabbed a towel and started drying his dick and balls, his dog tags swinging across his slightly pink, toned chest, his curls hanging wetly in his eyes. Then those mighty blues shifted for a millisecond toward Michonne, raking over her amazing body and perfect breasts as she emerged from the steam behind him. He felt his breath catch in his throat and desire punch him in the gut as their eyes met and lingered. Fear passed through him like a slingshot that she'd caught him looking. He gave her a dutiful nod, rolling his eyes at Abe's antics for cover, and dropped his gaze. Rick couldn't turn around fast enough to wrap his towel around his waist and pluck out another one to dry off his hair.

Michonne smirked, still wringing her locs out. She'd definitely caught him. She hadn't quite figured out what she was going to do about it yet, though.

"Toss me a towel, there, boss." The statuesque samurai gestured with her chin, standing in all her full, naked, utterly spellbinding glory behind him, unfazed by his sudden shyness.

She found it utterly amusing that he preferred to use real towels instead of just stepping into the Dyson, but Rick was probably the last luddite left in the western hemisphere (with the exception of the perpetually brooding Daryl, of course). She liked to tease him by indulging his old-fashioned ways.

Rick blushed but his cool, unaffected grin remained fixed in place as he grabbed a towel for her too. He turned to face her again, tossing it into her quick, deft hands.

"Good work out there today, 'Chonne."

He cast about for something else to say, shifting on his feet and leaning to the side as he toweled off his salt and pepper mop.

She rewarded him with a radiant smile. "Thanks. You've still got some pretty good moves yourself, for an old man. I thought we were gonna have to sit through a stakeout but you charged right in there." Rick rolled his eyes again as her smooth voice reached his ears under the booming music. "That hand cannon needs a spit shine, though. It's rusty as hell."

She gestured to the locker room at large, where Rick's old school (but also souped up) Colt Python was hanging in its holster in his rusty green locker.

"Hey, I respect the sword - you respect the hand cannon, okay?" He drawled defensively, secretly grateful for her teasing. "And that ain't rust, that's the blood of all my _numerous_ kills. That gun aims better'n any of these high velocity shooters all day long. Know your history, youngin'."

Michonne had been giving him plenty of opportunities to ease back into the friendly, easygoing rapport they'd established working together for so long. She was glad to hear him return her serve without hesitation now.

"Sure - as soon as your kill count even gets within _wind_ of mine. Admit it, Rick. The sword's more efficient that the antique."

"Ohhh- _hoho!_ " Glenn called from the shower room, grinning at the competitive insult as the rest of the gang hooped and hollered for Rick to jab back. "BURN!"

"Them's fightin' words, I do believe, Rick." Shane called over the last, long guitar medley in the song as he let Andrea shampoo his hair, bent over with his face practically growing out of her buoyant tits. "You g'on let her get away with that, brother?"

"She's right, though." Andrea shrugged, using her nails to scratch Shane's scalp (if he had a tail, it would be wagging). "You're slippin', old man. By my last walker count, you've got seven-sixty-four to 'Chonne's eight."

"Eight-oh- _one_." Glenn corrected, spitting water out of his mouth like a missile launcher.

Michonne's smirk grew, but she remained silent and let the praise float over her head in the thinning steam. She folded her towel over herself and waited patiently for Rick to disprove her claim.

"Oh hell yeah, that big gnarly fucker she took down tonight, like a _BEAST!_ " Abe saluted the kill by thrusting his dick at the wall obscenely.

Rick just stared at Michonne, his blue eyes sparkling, stuck for how to respond. Usually, he'd have a ready quip to toss back, but he was off his game in a big way with her these days. He was so damned attracted to her right now that her witty insults drove a spike of arousal through him more often than not.

Michonne was a tough nut to crack, but she knew people - she knew _Rick_. Maybe she couldn't understand _exactly_ why he was acting different, but she knew _something_ was up with him.

He needed to get his damn head together, pronto.

He didn't realize that she was working so hard to maintain their status quo because she was feeling pretty much the same way he was.

" _Actually - Michonne's kill count is at eight-hundred and_ _ **fifteen**_ _, including walkers, humans, and human-cybernetic hybrids."_

COMPANION™ LIZZY's elegant, English-accented, disembodied voice interrupted the fun as the music stopped abruptly.

Abraham's mustache twitched in a huff and he raised his hands in exasperation as the noisy rush of water and the hiss of steam now filled their ears. "Just an f-fuckin-y-i, that was the best damned part, LIZZY!"

" _As entertained as I_ _ **always**_ _am by your infantile obsession with prehistoric rock music, Carrot Top, there's a call coming in from Maggie's patrol unit."_

If COMPANION™ LIZZY had a face, Rick imagined she'd be smirking flirtatiously.

" _Besides, you are_ _ **very**_ _off-key, mate. Had I ears, they'd be bleeding."_ She quipped, then added cheerfully before he could retort: " _Patching Maggie through…"_

Her voice had a way of painting a complete picture of her personality for them, as was imbedded into her programming. Like with all COMPANION™ programs in this day and age. Once you installed them, they were with you for life, wherever you roamed.

They were smart phones, GPS trackers, personal computers, encyclopedias, friends, parents, guardians, educators, entertainers, and even provided the simple pleasure of company when you needed it. Their sentience was designed to age with yours, growing attached to you as a best friend, coworker, or family member. Some people treated them as pets, therapists - even spouses.

LIZZY had been with The Family since the beginning. She knew them inside and out.

The ups and downs of the new technological boom they had all been born into manifested in sentient beings they came to depend on for everything - but that they could never completely _know_.

That Rick could never _completely_ trust.

For a man like Rick Grimes, trusting sentient machines was not part of his hard wiring, so to speak. He had been born out in the wilds before he found the Safe Zone. He had seen many horrible, traumatizing things (and done more) to protect his family and finally find a safe place to make a decent home.

Peacekeeping, the dead, bad people, and bad deeds were all he knew from life.

So even though he liked LIZZY alright, and she had never given him any reason to distrust her programming - let alone rip her insides out of the B-DP mainframe and be done with it - every day was a struggle for him.

"Yeah I love you, too, sweetheart." Abe rolled his eyes but didn't argue any further. Seeing Maggie meant seeing Sasha. They spent so much time on opposite shifts, on opposite levels, getting a glimpse of her gorgeous face any time or place was always alright with him.

" _Yes_ \- yep, we'll take it right in here, thanks LIZZY!" Glenn piped up, already slipping and sliding to side-step Abraham as the holoscreen was illuminated smack in the middle of the shower room amongst the billowing steam.

"Hey, it's me. We're done for the night." A tough, but kind southern twang sounded out in the humid room.

Everyone crowded around the holoscreen as Maggie's pretty, though dead-serious face appeared on either side of it - opaque but also translucent. Sasha and Rosita were sitting next to and behind her in their fully-armored prowler as it bumped and rolled along. Maggie hated flyers, preferring do her patrolling on the solid ground where she had sure footing.

The young Southern spitfire scanned the side of the room she could see and smiled finally, as soon as she saw Glenn among her other naked teammates. She snorted, her cap shadowing her deep green eyes. "I see you slowpokes aren't done gettin' ready yet. Y'all gonna get mani-pedis together next or what?"

"Hey baby, sorry no - the water's extra hot tonight." Glenn confessed.

"Yeah and I was right in the middle of a concert." Abe boomed irritably for LIZZY'S benefit.

Everyone rolled their eyes at him and Rick spoke up. "We're almost done, here, too, don't worry. We'll meet you up at Rovia's in twenty minutes."

"I call dibs on the jukebox!" Mike chimed in as Maggie nodded that she heard Rick's instructions, even though she couldn't see him from her viewpoint. The good looking, cocky young peacekeeper stuck his head into the view screen from the back seat of the prowler, glaring at Abraham defiantly.

"No. No. _Mike._ _No._ " Abe countered, jabbing a finger at the holoscreen. "It's classic R&B night tonight, man."

"Yes, big guy, _yessss! Fuck_ your lil' classic R&B. I'm goin' vintage rap on you, boy." Mike tossed back. "You promised last time. Jesus'll back me up. Give Michonne a kiss for me, and tell her to wear that sexy ass skirt I like. See y'all in twenty. _Be on time._ "

"Oh, goodie. The music nerds are gonna _rumble_ tonight. Can't wait." Rosita rolled her eyes from his side, cleaning her giant, high velocity shooter. Her dark pigtails sprouted out from underneath her ubiquitous army cap as she blew a big bubble with her gum before allowing it to pop against her smirking lips.

Maggie and Sasha shooed him away as Sasha got in a quick air kiss to her big boo and Maggie ended the call.

Rick was grateful for the distraction and the excuse to move on, already backing up to head to his locker.

"Alright, outta the pool, kids. It's drinkin' time, let's move out!" He ordered, now actively avoiding Michonne's gaze.

Michonne watched him go, finally releasing the moment and allowing her desire to drink and dance overpower her desire to crack Rick's head open and figure out what the hell he wanted from her.

She forced herself to relax. She was going to see her boyfriend soon, and she needed to _not_ be preoccupied with Rick when she did. The well-fit warrior headed to her own side of the locker room, skin glowing, brow furrowed, lips pursed.

Abraham was the last to file out of the shower chamber, fetching a fresh cigar out of the vending machine by Rick's towel rack. He ignored the towels and lit his cigar, stepping into the Dyson. His thick, freckled ass dripping, preferring to auto-air dry.

"Why don't you strike my road music back up, LIZZY?" He called over the warm blasts of air swirling around his beefy body. "Come on, darlin', I promise, I won't sing this time. And you can even turn it down a smidge, how 'bout that?"

After a long pause, LIZZY finally answered.

" _I find these terms acceptable. Go on, get your rocks off, love. I'm starting a ten-minute clock, Rick."_

He had no doubt she would. She knew him inside and out.

' _The Boys Are Back In Town'_ started up again, a little quieter this time. Everyone groaned but Abe as they all dried off and got dressed. In ten minutes, as promised, LIZZY announced that it was time to head to their favorite local dive, Rovia's.

Rick grabbed his jacket, holstered his gun and slammed his locker shut. His entire body - now wrapped in a black button-down, snug black jeans, and his trusty brown boots - was relaxed and feeling clean thanks to the shower.

Glenn checked his two souped up auto-pistols and holstered them. He rigged his wrist daggers and flipped on his suspenders, an adorable yet fierce assassin if ever there was one.

Andrea and Shane got dressed together, joking and flirting with each other - Shane smacking her ass and 'Drea pulling his head down to her level to take a kiss as _he_ pulled on his pants. They checked and loaded their big ass guns, holstered them, sheathed their bowie knife and machete respectively and were ready to roll. Lastly, Abe tossed on his army-green cargo jeans and tank, kissed his dogtags, grabbed his rocket launcher of a high-velocity shooter and followed everyone out.

Their leader dutifully ignored Michonne's now dried and oiled skin wrapped inside her body-hugging reddish-orange tube skirt, not to mention the sight of those shapely breasts perched elegantly inside her black tank and leather biker vest. To add insult to injury, tonight she was also wearing those sexy ass black thighhighs attached to garters gliding out of her black boots.

He could see her toned silhouette and shining, freshly oiled locs hanging across her exquisitely-shaped shoulders out of the corner of her eye as the gang traipsed down the tunnel and out to the bull pen.

As irritating as he found Mike these days, Rick had to give him credit for being the only one able to get 'Chonne to pull out all the stops. Her otherworldly ass switching around in that skirt alone was making her boss and best friend's jeans uncomfortably tight, and the night hadn't even really gotten started yet.

He now just gave it up and surreptitiously watched her ass move and sway, the guitar licks of the music echoing in his mind.

Michonne walked in her usually unhurried, graceful feline stride, feeling Rick's eyes all over her, her sword hanging around her back (where it always remained, pretty much).

Eugene and Heath were out front as usual, leaned back lazily at their desks, staring at replays of barbaric, bloody kills on _The Grid_. "We're out and on call for the night. Don't party too hard, fellas…" Rick drawled as they passed the pen.

"Yeah, no jizz on the linoleum!" Shane added, pounding a desk on his way out as Andrea snorted from her comfy position under his arm.

"Fuck you, caterpillar dick." Heath called back, not tearing his eyes from the holoscreen, sipping his coffee sludge.

"Caterpillars are _extinct_ , bitch." Shane called back absurdly.

"That's actually kinda sad, you ask me…" Eugene intoned thoughtfully. "I liked caterpillars. Real ones, anyway."

"You ain't never even seen a real one in person, man, shut up." Heath retorted.

"Still…" the eccentric programmer and ops facilitator shrugged. "Think about the resources we could save if we didn't have to manufacture 'em."

Rick and Michonne laughed simultaneously, finding themselves walking at the same pace, side-by-side, like they were used to. The gang filed out of the B-DP's auto-sliding metal doors, everyone heading for their respective flyers.

It was starting to rain.

It was perpetual night here on the twelfth level, The Bottom. The rain took ages to make it down to them because of everything that was happening above them to slow its descent. By the time the rainflow made it all the way down here, it was either mostly gone or it was a thick, heady mist that made everything around them practically glow.

Rick loved the way Michonne looked in the rain at true night. He peeled his eyes off of her glistening skin as they climbed into their flyer. Shane gave Rick a fist bump on the dirty curb through his window before letting Andrea lead him to their cargo flyer where Glenn and Abraham waited.

Rick's was modeled after a vintage Dodge Charger - sort of like the one on the _Duke's of Hazard_ , an old fashioned TV show he's stumbled upon in the holoscreen archives when he was a kid. Except this one wasn't painted obnoxious, Confederate red. It was basically the color of the metal that virtually everything in their world was built out of these days.

It was almost indestructable, not flashy down here in the deep, as hard and almost comfortless as the lower levels themselves. The flyer's saving grace was its superior weapons and targeting, excellent navigation - and above all, favorite to Michonne - the worn-in bucket seats. They were a combination of vintage leather and sturdy upholstery on tough, buoyant springs.

Michonne always liked the way the springs hugged her ass when she settled in and her door slid shut for her. They'd put a lot of miles on and done a lot of damage with this old whip.

"Let's have some fun tonight, okay, boss?" She finally forced him to look directly at her as she reached over to brush her fingers against his hand. He gripped the steering wheel in response to the touch, but played it off by starting his flight process - bringing the flyer to blinking, rumbling, illuminated life, opening the holoscreen on the windshield, and pinpointing their destination on the map.

He simply grinned at her, wanting nothing more than to do just that. Relax. But _really_ do that. Really allow himself to let go of his self-restraint and get as close to Michonne as he'd been fantasizing about for the last year. _God help him,_ she was beautiful.

"You just watch those shots, princess…" He tossed back, finding his wit as he got them in the air and began to ascend to level ten, where Rovia's was located. "You fell flat on your ass before happy hour was even up last week."

"Ohhhh, fuck you for bringing that up!" She complained, relieved that he was going along, and they zoomed upward - the lights of the tall buildings, tunnels, bridges, and traffic all over Safe Zone zity looming around them.

Rick's mind was forming the secret, husky reply ' _please do…'_ when:

" _Actually, Michonne never made it on her arse last week, Rick."_

LIZZY interrupted, apparently listening in on his Comm system as they zipped past a giant, building-wide billboard of a famous entertainer that was coming to town from what was once Japan.

" _You caught her before she hit the curb and brought her home, remember? You'd been watching out for her, like always."_

"Thank you, LIZZY, _goodnight_." Rick gritted sternly, his neck flushing red as he switched to manual Comm.

He sped up as he now had to avoid Michonne's gaze yet again, trying to concentrate on gunning it to Rovia's for a good, stiff drink.

Then maybe his hovering, very annoying hard-on would finally go away. He found himself hoping that Michonne would not look down and instead would get lost in the brilliant rainbow of lights and eclectic mixture of Safe Zone residents like she usually did when he drove.

Michonne just turned to face forward, her silence quite telling.

This was gonna be a long night.

* * *

22:49

 _Do you love me?_

 _(Do you love me?)_

 _Do you loooove me?_

 _(Do you love me?)_

 _Noooow that IIII can daaaance?_

The classic R&B music blasted from Jesus' old-fashioned jukebox in the red-tinted, seedy little hole-in-the-tower dive bar - Abe's turn in a long bout of his and Mike's musical jousting.

Just about all twelve of The Family (save Daryl, who was running late as usual) was enthusiastically cruising into the hour and half mark of their much deserved downtime at Rovia's.

The owner, Paul a.k.a. 'Jesus' Rovia (on account of his long blond hair, empathetic blue eyes and neat beard) was a keen observer, excellent advice giver, and benevolent indulger of the infamous peacekeeper gang whenever they crossed his threshold.

For Abraham as an example, he kept an ancient jukebox that played the old hits from when the world was still alive, with aid from his COMPANION™ GREGORY's connection to the infinite cloud database.

Andrea, Shane, Rosita and Sasha were playing pool while Glenn and Maggie canoodled in a darkened booth at the back of the dive by the jukebox.

Rick was seated at the bar, listening to Abe regale Jesus with the tale of their roundup earlier this evening - a notorious ring of dirty tech dealers selling faulty, black market cybernetic weapons that had a penchant for using walkers as sentinels. Though he tried to pay attention and chime in every now and then, Rick was mostly silent as Jesus listened intently, smiling or shaking his head as he kept the shots and beers flowing.

"I laid down cover fire from my flyer and we lit those bastards up - in and out, clean sweep." Abraham was chortling. "Then Glenn slid in with those fuckin' killer daggers of his and Michonne with that sweet ass sword."

He pounded his meaty fist on the bartop, rattling the glasses.

" _Wham, Bam, Thank You, Ma'am!_ We scored the loot, the credit _and_ the guns with nothin' but a Coke and a smile!"

Jesus chuckled good-naturedly and gave Abe a slow clap. "Here, here. Well done. Your next shot's on me."

"I'll drink to that, amigo." Abe raised his scotch and downed it without waiting for anyone to agree.

That was one thing about humans - they always found a way to drink, no matter the time period.

"Yeah, it was a good night's work." Rick drawled, still nursing his beer despite Abe's rush. "We didn't even need LIZZY for much backup. Michonne hacked into the COMPANION™ they hijacked at their hideout, no problem."

"Damned skippy." Abe agreed. "That's why nobody fucks with The Family. Not on _our_ turf, am I right, boys n'girls?"

He raised his empty tumbler to the bar at large, receiving whistles and 'amens' from the peanut gallery behind them.

Rick was trying not to stare at Michonne and Mike through the holoscreen behind Jesus that doubled as a mirror (or an aquarium full of holofish, or a viewer for _The Grid_ depending on the bartender and owner's mood).

They were dancing together. Close.

He was _trying_ \- but he couldn't help his intense blue gaze from darting toward the cruel reflection of his best friend and one of his teammates all hugged up on each other under the red lights. Her shapely lips, visible even in the dim, atmospheric lighting, turning up into a girlish smile as Mike whispered something sweet into her ear and stole a kiss from her cheek. She rolled her eyes at him and kept dancing, her body moving perfectly in time to the beat. Mike happily followed her lead, twisting his hips and twirling her around as they grooved to the old school, feel good track.

Rick's heart thundered in his chest as he realized that _he_ wanted to be the one on the dance floor with Michonne, not Mike. Dancing with her. Close. Touching and squeezing her lithe body to his in a glowing red heaven as she snapped her fingers to the music and bounced her hips sensually against his groin.

" _Incoming call for Peacekeeper Grimes, Jesus. It's Lori."_

GREGORY briefly turned down the music in the joint to announce matter-of-factly.

"I'll take it outside, thanks." Rick piped up, snapping out of his fixation on Mike and Michonne to take the call from his wife out in the back hallway leading to the alley behind the bar.

On the dancefloor, Michonne's eyes wandered toward Rick as he stood up from his stool and sauntered away, his jaw clenched and his shoulders stiff. She let Mike twirl her around again as the song began its closing crescendo.

Rick ambled out back, the red glow giving way to a cool, dim gloom that relieved him as he tried to clear his head of his desire for his partner. His wife was calling, he needed a strong poker face and all of his patience.

Their relationship had been going downhill for years, but they were hanging on for their children. They both worked around the clock, practically, leaving their boy Carl to pretty much fend for himself and his baby sister Judith. But Carl was like his father - he was stoic, responsible, and wise beyond his years.

It also meant they had to work more to afford their babysitter, Jessie. Her minor crush on Rick (he was telling himself) was another can of synthetic beans he _definitely_ didn't want to get into, either.

They couldn't afford anyone else on their salaries, despite how much they worked. Jessie was a mother herself, and pretty good with the kids. She was a tad sycophantic, but she could be trusted - at least, with the kids. The other conundrum of her crush was enough to give Rick a headache and avoid dealing with indefinitely...until perhaps he'd have to be harsh and they'd have to find a new babysitter.

Needle in a haystack down here. Not least because Rick _insisted_ on having a real, live, flesh-and-blood human watching after his son and daughter.

Rick took a deep breath and stood up to his full height, stopping in the middle of the hall under a pale, dirty light floating above his head. "Alright, GREGORY, put her through."

" _Patching Lori through…"_

Lori's pale face appeared on a holoscreen GREGORY had projected before Rick's eyes. She was on duty at the command center in the Skyscraper, as she'd been for going on eight hours now. She still had another four hours and some change to go.

Her beleaguered, yet elegant face regarded her husband's with fatigued restraint. Lori was perpetually annoyed with Rick these days - for a good number of reasons he'd lost count of. He could always tell when she was trying to be patient and not get angry at the sight of his him like she wanted to be.

"Hey, Rick." She sighed, running a thin hand through her fine dark bangs. "You finally off-duty?"

He nodded, shifting on his feet. "Yeah, you're patched through to Rovia's. I'm on call, but I'm just havin' a few beers with the guys before I head home. You alright? You need somethin'?"

Lori's brow furrowed testily at his words, annoyed that he always assumed she was calling to ask him to do something instead of just checking up on him because she loved him. She further hated it that he was usually right.

"Well, since you're askin', I need you to pick up Carl and Jude tomorrow and drop 'em off at Jessie's again. I was tryin' to find a way to wiggle out of takin' an extra shift all day. Couldn't be helped."

Rick clenched his jaw, instantly aggravated. He dipped his head, attempting to restrain the irritation in his low, husky voice. "You know, correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought we said you'd be off tomorrow to spend some time with the kids?" He finally turned his eyes again to glare directly at her image on the holoscreen projected before him.

Lori bit her lip, blinking patiently at him.

"I know. But the Mayor has some last minute diplomatic meeting, and we're short staffed since Katie got sick…" She huffed out a breath, losing her patience. "We need the money, Rick. And it's not like _you're_ makin' any kind of effort to pull back on your shifts at the B-DP!"

That was another thing about humankind - no matter the time or space - capitalism and industry would likely forever reign supreme. Wreaking just as much havoc in their lives as it always had done, even after the walkers had destroyed them and the technology they yielded had supposedly saved them.

Rick raised a hand to interrupt her, fed up with this. Anxious to get back inside and forget about it.

(Anxious to settle down at the bar facing the mirror again so he could continue secretly torturing himself watching Michonne in peace.)

"Look - it's fine, Lori. Okay? I'll pick 'em up, don't worry about it." She looked like she was itching to argue some more but he cut her off before she could start up again. "I'll see you later. End call, GREG."

" _Goodnight, Lori. Love to the kids. And it's_ _ **GREGORY**_ _, Rick. On twenty-two separate occasions, I've asked you…"_

The holoscreen faded and Rick stalked back toward the red light bleeding out into the dark hall from the bar, ignoring _GREGORY_.

* * *

Van Morrison's ' _T.B. Sheets'_ was slithering out of the jukebox like the intricate plumes of smoke filling the red air. Another of Abe's classics.

It was nearing forty minutes later and the gang all sat around a booth with a table slammed up against it, drinking, smoking, laughing, and telling bullshit stories of all their kills.

"I'll never forget that shit..." Glenn mused, one arm wrapped around Maggie's shoulders as he twirled his beer on the table under the lone, pale illuminator above their booth. It broke up the red air cloaking them in the now near-empty bar as they reminisced about the last time Abraham saved his life.

Maggie rolled her eyes but gazed at her fiance fondly as he lifted his arm from around her neck to mimic an automatic HV-machine gun, torpedoing invisible rounds.

"Boom-boom-boom- _BOOM!_ Walkers dropping like flies all around me, man. Shit was wild. I thought I was a goner for _sure_."

"You almost peed your pants, geek." Daryl chimed in, his low, scratchy drawl sounding from the entrance as he sauntered in, late as usual.

They all booed and cheered him simultaneously as he made his way to their booth/table and dumped his bow on the surface.

"'Sup, mole people. How's life down here in the underground?" He growled, his slick, black hair hanging in his face as he shimmied his big arms out of his damp leather jacket.

"Where the hell have _you_ been, asshole?" Rick grunted good-naturedly, leaning back in his seat.

Daryl shrugged and slumped down next to him, reaching over for one of the pitchers of beer in the center of their table. "Snuck across the border to pay a lil' family visit with my blue ass big brother."

Everyone moaned and shifted around uncomfortably at Daryl's fondness for casually breaking the law to stroll over to The Gates of Hell.

"You're gonna get caught and thrown onto _The Grid_ , you keep pulling shit like that. Dumbass…" Glenn griped, dragging beer from his bottle.

"Ass licker." Daryl shot back coolly.

" _Hey._ Don't knock it til you've tried it, fucker." Maggie cut into him. "Maybe if you did, you'd be able to score more than hybrid prostitutes every full moon with those hairy armpits of yours."

"Yeah. What she said." Glenn gestured with his beer, grinning as he wiggled his eyebrows and took a swig. He leaned back again and wrapped his arm around his woman.

" _I believe that used to be commonly referred to as a 'wicked burn' among you humans, wasn't it?"_

GREGORY mused from out of nowhere.

"You know it was, GREGORY." Jesus intoned, rolling his eyes. Shane burst into a drunken chuckle.

That was that.

They all moved on once Daryl had recovered from Maggie's wicked burn. Now the topic of conversation was Rick and Michonne's neverending kill competition.

Shane shook his head, blowing air through his lips around his toothpick as he sat back and let his girl 'Drea play with his jet black hair.

"Boy, I ain't never seen nobody handle a weapon like 'Chonne and that damn sword. When you turn on that laser blade in the back and do your 'Kill Bill' thang?" He whistled low, referencing one of his favorite classic action movies.

"Yeah...you're a badass, babe." A tipsy Andrea agreed, winking at her friend across the table where she sat cozied up with Mike adjacent to Rick and Daryl. "I think she's got you beat, old man."

" _Oooh,_ do y'all remember those pet walkers she had before they were outlawed?" Maggie sang reverently, her keen eyes widening as big as saucers.

Abe, Sasha and Rosita pounded their fists on the table, remember the 'pets' fondly.

"Bad- _ASS_ , girl!" Abe whistled low.

"Score one Rick, Michonne infinity." Sasha and Rosita agreed, clinking shot glasses and tipping them back.

"Pfft. Y'all must've forgotten that time Rick 'The Savage' Grimes _bit a dude's motherfuckin' throat out._ " Daryl grumbled in disagreement as Rick and Michonne's gazes found each other's and didn't let go. "I love you, 'Chonne, but you gotta give it up for that one, sweetheart. You were there. You remember."

"Nope. I think I blocked that out, seriously!" Michonne burst into radiant laughter as Rick's pink lips sprouted into a crooked grin, rudely watching her, ignoring Mike.

The boyfriend in question (and teammate, Rick _had_ to remember that) sat up straight from his slightly sprawled position leaning next to Michonne, his dark eyes darting from his girl to his boss in the red tinted shadows.

He was getting more and more noticeably (at least, to everyone but Rick, it seemed) uncomfortable, despite Michonne's attempts to soothe him with her attentions whenever she could.

"Yes, Rick is quite a successful killer…" Jesus agreed, his keen, observant eyes darting from Rick to Michonne and back again as he sipped his scotch, having joined the group for a break of his own. "And so is Michonne. Cheers to them both, I say. To you all - you keep this place going. And you'll always have my gratitude."

He raised his glass to the table. "To The Family."

"To The Family." They all chimed, raising their drinks.

" _Aww,_ thanks cupcake." Abraham reached over and tried to wiggle Jesus' beard with his meaty fingers, but the eloquent bartender dodged his efforts easily.

"Yo, Rick, why don't you go ahead and _take a fuckin' picture_ , huh?" Mike suddenly growled out of nowhere, bringing the amicable conversation to a screeching halt. "It might last you fuckin longer, _you know what I'm sayin'_ , man?"

Michonne's heart jumped into her throat and started pounding away as Mike's strong arm tightened around her waist, his fingers digging into her thigh.

All eyes turned to Rick, Mike, and Michonne as the chilled out music suddenly didn't seem to matter in the tense, red quiet.

Michonne's lips parted and she wanted to say something - _anything_ \- to stop what was about to happen, but she couldn't think straight. She was helplessly pinned against Mike's hard, warm (and getting warmer as he got angrier, she could tell) body, her gaze landing on Rick and not being able to turn away.

"Mike…" She managed, but he ignored her.

For his part, Rick simply sat back in his chair again, his fingers playing idly with the dewy neck of his beer bottle. His prismatic blues glinted under the pale illuminator above the table as they peeled slowly away from Michonne's nervous, beautiful face to land on Mike's cold, hard one.

"Uh, no...I _don't_ know what you're sayin', Mike." He drawled quietly, tilting his head at his young teammate.

In bold truth, he did know exactly what the kid was getting at. Still, he waited, holding his ground.

"Shit." Andrea muttered under her breath, shrinking down in her seat, attempting to hide behind Shane's muscular arm. Shane was glued to the stand-off like it was a soccer match.

 _Who the fuck was gonna score one first?_

No one could say they hadn't seen this coming.

If she thought about it, least of all Michonne. For days, maybe even weeks, this had been brewing.

Mike wasn't stupid. He had _definitely_ noticed, and been trying put up with, his boss ogling his girl every chance he got. He was tired, he had just come off a long, tedious-ass shift listening to Rosita pop gum all goddamned day, and all he wanted was some quality time with Michonne.

But no. Rick _Savage-Ass_ Grimes was the one who got to ride around with her every shift like they were Bonnie and fuckin' Clyde out this bitch. Now he was staring at her - like he'd _always_ stared at her since even before Mike and Michonne hooked up - and Mike _**was sick of it**_ **.** It was time to knuckle up.

Sittin' there lookin' all rugged, white, and smug with that rusty ass wedding ring and that hidden hard-on under the table. Rick uttered: "Why don't you enlighten us? What's got you so riled up?"

Mike exploded. " _FUCK YOU,_ RICK!" He shot up from the table like a canon, tipping Michonne off her butt onto the booth into Glenn.

"Yikes!" Maggie hiccupped, scooting over to get the hell out of the way.

"Hey, why don't you just chill out, man?" Daryl muttered patiently. "We're tryin' to kick back, here."

Rick was still sitting there, staring up at Mike with a half-grin on his pink lips.

"Why don't you _try_ to kick my ass in the back, how about that, Daryl?" Mike retorted heatedly.

"I think you should quit while you're ahead." Rick scoffed, shaking his head, trying to quell the volcano of anger threatening to boil over inside him.

His eyes darted to Michonne, who recognized the testy look inside that crystal blue sea instantly. Fuck, fuck, _fuck,_ this was bad.

"Trust me, you don't want none o'that, Mike." Daryl answered, his steel eyes observing the young man keenly, his quick, nimble fingers itching for his bow.

"Yeah, well _fuck you_ , too, D. Let's go, Rick. Come on, old man!" Mike was moving away from the booth, causing everyone to lift themselves out of their riveted stupor in protest. "You afraid to loose in front of Michonne, is that it? _My_ mother fuckin' girlfriend!? Or you don't wanna explain why you got your ass beat the hell down to your wife later?"

"Fuck a duck in the summertime." Abe almost choked on his beer, impressed (and terrified) that Mike had actually gone there.

"Now, hold the fuckin' phone, Mike." Shane piped up, his nostrils flaring. "Leave Lori the hell outta this, would ya? Low blow, man, come on."

"Y'all better get him…" Sasha warned, having witnessed first hand how vicious Rick could be when he was backed into a corner. The throat jerky from a couple years ago wasn't even the half of it.

Mike was a good fighter, a loyal and supportive team member, and a skilled tactician - but he was letting Rick's greying beard and unhurried ways fool him. He didn't stand a chance.

Peacekeeper Grimes knew how to take _any_ man down. Even her boo Abraham's big ass.

"Alright, then." Rick nodded, still smiling. He stood up from his chair. "Let's go."

" _Jesus, I would not advise this course of action. Rick's body temperature is well above - "_

GREGORY attempted to intervene.

" _ **MIKE.**_ " Michonne interrupted finally, her angry, chilling voice cutting through the thick air like the fatally sharp edge of her katana. Mike stiffened, his fists balling at his sides, but he ripped his gaze from Rick's to look at her. "You're right - you _do_ need some air. Why don't you and _me_ step outside for a minute, okay?"

Michonne rose gracefully, forbiddingly, from the booth, stepping out of it with one shapely, garter-clad leg exposed after the other. Her expression and body language brooked no refusal.

She ran a hand through her loose locs, waiting for Mike, now actively avoiding Rick's gaze. She held on to her anger, needing to set Mike straight on some shit. Needing to clear her own head and escape this room full of staring eyes - especially Rick's. And the way they made her body feel. And the way that was affecting her relationship with her actual boyfriend.

Finally, Mike relented, huffing out a breath and nodding harshly in her direction. He dropped his gaze to his combat boots and stalked out ahead of her - his jaw clenched, not looking at or speaking to anyone.

Rick watched her go, her alluring form gliding through the hazy cigar smoke in the red glare as she followed her boyfriend out of Rovia's for some 'fresh air'.

Then he realized what had just happened - what he'd just been caught doing - and what had almost just transpired because of it. In front of his entire unit.

His wedding ring felt like it was gonna burn his finger off as he slowly sat back down in his seat again, reaching over to drain the last of his beer for something to do.

"Well, that was a hell of a lot more entertaining than I expected…" Rosita deadpanned, propping her boot-clad feet up on the table. "Who knew Mike was such a drama queen?"

"Rick - I told you man." Shane leaned forward and half-heartedly tried to whisper across the table at Rick. "You can't go dippin' your pen in the company ink. 'Specially not when it's on loan from a hothead like Mike. I mean, Michonne's hot, and all, but..."

"Shut the fuck up, would ya, babe?"Andrea groaned, feeling kinda bad for Rick.

"What?" Shane didn't get it. "I'm just giving him advice he needs!"

" _Shane, he's fuckin' married._ " Andrea gritted under her breath, slapping his arm. "Stick a sock in it!"

"Listen to your girlfriend, Shane." Daryl replied raspily, putting the kibosh on it so Rick wouldn't have to.

Though the bossman knew, deep down, his childhood friend was right. So was Andrea.

He was a married man and he had no business eyeballing someone else's girlfriend all night, where anyone could catch him - let alone the man she was currently sleeping with. Even if he weren't married, and Lori wasn't working her ass off right now to put money into their savings for a bigger place, it would still be ridiculously inappropriate. Michonne was his partner, his second in command, his right hand. Not his property or his wet dream. He had to straighten the fuck up and act like he had some sense.

Although he could've beaten Mike's ass to within an inch of his young, arrogant life, it wasn't worth it.

Michonne had no idea how Rick felt about her. It wasn't her fault, or her problem.

He wanted her, badly. He knew this with certainty as he tried not to stare at the door every chance he got for any sign of her. But the minutes ticked by, and the conversation slowly, awkwardly got going again without her.

"GREGORY…" Jesus called politely, watching Rick with empathy and concern from the end of the table.

" _Now you call, Jesus. What can I do for you?"_

"Dial your sarcasm levels down a bit, first. Then play something for us. Anything...funky." Jesus answered, still eyeing his most valued regular (and friend) as he sat pensively waiting for Michonne.

" _Roger that. I believe the next song is Mike's choice. In the mood for another round on the house?"_

GREGORY sounded much more professional, now. Though still a tad bitchy.

He saw that Rick Grimes was in love with his partner Michonne Snow. Everyone could. But it was _Jesus_ would could also plainly see that working overtime to hide it was taking its toll on him.

The least he could do, while his doors were still open, was make sure the man had plenty of alcohol to drown his sorrows and soothe his pining heart.

"Absolutely. And keep them coming."

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **This is just the opening credits, folks.**

 **I was going for a sort of homage to the kind of scenes I loved from the opening of 'Alien'.**

 **Or even old-school treasures like 'Leviathan' (I know, I'm old, heh).**

 **Abe's music love is inspired by classic scenes in movies like 'Predator', or 'Forrest Gump'.**

 **Even recently, 'The Watchmen', or 'Guardians of the Galaxy'.**

 **I know. I am insane. And this may not be everyone's cup of tea.**

 **But if I've done my job right, this will be a romantic, dark, melancholy, sweeping, crazy adventure. Based on my love of sci-fi, and dripping with a steamy, heaping, sexy helping of** _ **RICHONNE!**_

 **If you decide to bail, understandable, and thanks for stopping by.**

 **If you stick with me, thank you so much. Buckle up, this is only the beginning.**

 **Next...a drunken confession in a dark hallway.**

 **Intense, hypnotic smut.**

 **And the fall.**

 **Hold onto your butts.**

 **-Kendra**

 **P.S. Check my tumblr for OC face claims and gifs (for all my stories) that paint more of a visual of what's going on in my inexplicable head...plus updates on my Spotify playlists. If you're into that sort of thing. ::scurries away::**


	2. the shortest night

**WARNING:**

 **Not. Safe. For. Work.**

* * *

 _don't switch on me, I got big plans..._

 _I need you stop runnin' back to your ex,_

 _he's a wasteman_

' _cause I know what I like, and_

 _I know how I wanna live my life_

 _I'm blem for real,_

 _I might just say how I feel..._

-'Blem', Drake

* * *

 _ **[Rebooting]**_

 **…**

 _ **File Code: GATUS...**_

 _ **Status..**_

 _ **Rovia's/Level Ten..**_

 **…**

 _ **23:19**_

A few of the songs Mike had lined up for his turn at bat had gone by before there was any sign of Michonne, or the hot headed beau in question.

Actually, there turned out to be _no_ sign of him aside from the music, which was the straw that finally broke Rick's dogged self-restraint.

What followed was the first night Rick Grimes freely acted on the fact that he was in love with Michonne Snow. What followed that changed their lives. Brutally.

GREGORY was opening the wall-to-wall observation windows when the fifth song was cuing up, the light of the city towers spilling into the red room to brighten things up a bit. But only just a bit. Jesus preferred it moody in Rovia's.

By this time some of the gang had wandered off to do their own thing. More pool. More shots. More gossiping about what had just gone down, no doubt.

Shane, Abraham and 'Drea were talking quietly with Jesus at the bar. Daryl and Glenn were getting their asses kicked by Sasha and Rosita at the pool table.

Maggie was in the ladies' room, freshening up. Leaving Rick alone with his thoughts.

The slow, hypnotic groove of a classic hip hop song began to flow out of the jukebox, and their drinks were refilled yet again at GREGORY's sentient behest.

Rick sat back and raised his glass gratefully to Jesus, who nodded graciously from the bar. They both knew he was dreading watching Michonne and Mike walk back in hand in hand. He couldn't pretend to be ignorant that they were probably making up (and making out) out there.

Rick wondered if he should just leave. Go home to the bed he shared with his wife, who would be off work and headed home soon enough. Think about how he was gonna fix this.

But at the same damn time, he knew he wasn't going to budge until he saw Michonne again.

The flyers whizzed by the large, wall-to-wall rectangle of the open viewers, their lights flickering and streaking across the room in brilliant strobes. In the distance, the lights of the spiraling watchtower glowed white. The road vehicles zoomed across the sky bridges. Life went on.

Rick ignored it all, waiting.

Then, finally, Michonne walked in. She was alone.

The very sight of her - damp from the misty rain, glowing from either anger or embarrassment or sadness or all - hit him like a high velocity bullet to the heart. Her long, exquisitely shaped legs cascaded out of her short skirt and she moved like a dream. The smooth dark skin of her thighs was just visible to Rick's roaming eyes in the dim lights as she walked up to the bar, hugging herself, her brow furrowed.

Rick couldn't help zeroing in on Michonne's body language. Maybe they hadn't made up. Or made out.

"Hey babe. You alright?" Andrea called softly from a few stools down next to Shane, just as Maggie had appeared from the ladies' room looking ready to offer a hug if Michonne needed one.

The tall, statuesque beauty nodded, her eyes kind of sad, but resigned. Not _too_ disappointed, at least.

"I'm fine. Mike went back to base to drink off his tantrum with Eugene and Heath." Snow sighed as her friends looked on in solidarity. "That was gonna happen sooner rather than later, anyway."

She couldn't help feeling Rick's gaze on her as GREGORY silently poured her a shot.

"Damn." Shane scoffed quietly, staring at her in awe, his shoulders bouncing a little from his leaning position propped against the bar under Andrea's weight. "So that's _it_ , huh? Y'all done? Just like that?"

Michonne shrugged, not wishing to divulge what a relief it was. Or really go into the ugly fight they'd just had in the glowing mist on the dirty curb at the edge of level ten.

"Just like that. It was fun, but...truth is, Mike's too young and fast for me. And all good things must come to an end. Right, GREGORY?"

" _I'm unable to raise your spirits with an appropriately dry joke at the moment, I'm afraid, Michonne. Jesus has forced me to 'tone it down'. Let's just say...yes, I'm right there with you, my darling girl."_

"Thanks, Dad." Michonne joked dryly for him, downing her shot.

And then her eyes found Rick's once again.

The deep, enticing bass pounded through GREGORY's surround sound, swirling across her skin, making it tingle. The sentimental rapper from way back in the day drawled sadly, confessing some impassioned secret to whomever he was serenading in his smoky, faux Caribbean accent.

Rick still sat at the table across the near empty bar, now alone. The invasion of the city lights into the red glare made him look dark, sexy, and alluring. He was staring at her. As he had been all night.

As he had been since they met. Michonne had always secretly felt some type of way whenever Peacekeeper Grimes turned those intense blues on her.

Michonne followed the music, her legs carrying her in her heavy boots across the room, almost to the beat of the hypnotizing bass.

Rick watched her come, that hidden erection Mike had mentioned earlier now floating up to say hello. He knew it was very possible that their friends (and possibly some of the other humans or hybrids scattered about, too) were sneaking a peek at the show. But he just as surely knew that he didn't care.

Michonne had come back, _alone_.

Rick forgot about what he was going to have to deal with from Mike for the foreseeable future until he cooled off and let it go (or something _else_ needed to be done about it).

When she finally reached him, her locs falling across her shoulder, her slender, toned figure wearing the hell out of that skirt - she nudged him harshly with her knee.

"What the _fuck_ , Rick?"

"Sorry." He grunted guiltily, sitting up straight so she could slide into Daryl's old seat next to him. "Was it as bad as I think?"

Michonne sighed, her hips swaying a little to the beat on her significant ass in the chair before him. He swallowed hard, trying to put on his best friend hat. "It was...bad. But Mike's an asshole. We both knew that when we hired him."

Her eyes darted to his with sad amusement as she stole a sip of his drink.

"Yeah…" Rick drawled, scratching his chin, not really wanting to talk about Mike anymore. "I think that might've been _why_ we hired him, at the time."

"Hindsight's a bitch."

"You sure you're alright?" Rick got serious, gazing at her intensely as the dazzling cityscape turned darker and more electric to their left.

"I'm fine, Rick. Boyfriends come and go." Michonne insisted, her brow furrowing hard as she glared at him. She was one tough cookie. "How are _you?_ You've been acting weird with me for weeks. And tonight was...what _was_ that just now?"

"I'm sorry, Michonne. I don't…"

Michonne watched her friend and hardcore crush sigh hard, looking as though his chest was feeling tight. She frowned as he tried to spit it out, her heartbeat fluttering and her stomach doing a quiet little backflip.

"I don't really understand everythin' that's gotten into my head lately."

The sound of Daryl's lightning-fast shot sending balls crashing into each other at the pool table punctuated Rick's heavy words as the music pulsed and pounded around them. His luminous eyes finally rose to meet hers.

"Except when it comes to you." He nodded slightly to himself. " _That_ I think I figured out. And the truth is, Mike wasn't wrong tonight." A bemused chuckle rumbled his Adam's apple in his throat. "I wanted to beat the shit out of 'im, but...he _wasn't_ wrong, Michonne."

Of course she had known. And of course she felt the same way. She'd been watching Rick all night, too. She was just smart enough to be more discreet about it.

Right now, though, Michonne could only stare at him for a moment. She let herself get lost in the cerulean galaxies burning in his eyes. Those perfect pink lips of his, couched in a fuzzy brown and white beard. He was so handsome.

And he was very serious. She didn't know how to react. What to do, what to say. She knew what she wanted. She knew it was wrong. But _goddamn_ it...she had wanted it for so fucking long.

 _ **Years,**_ _maybe,_ Snow realized as her sex suddenly quaked in time with the bass at the behest of the honesty in Rick's eyes alone. And the lust. He was letting her see it all. She was almost afraid to call his bluff.

 _Rick_ was momentarily afraid that Michonne was thrown for a loop, and he searched the room for something to break her out of it. His eyes reluctantly left her gorgeous face and noticed that Abraham had led Sasha out to the dance floor and was showing her off like she was an exoctic flower. And he decided, boldly, to do what he'd been wanting to do all night.

His gaze returned to his partner. "Wanna dance?"

Michonne looked reluctant at first, but the challenge in Rick's eyes stayed her protest. He looked like he was just as over pretending he wasn't ferociously attracted to her as _she_ was of hiding that she had the hots for him, too.

So she let a little bit of her wall slip, accepting his challenge. "You know I do."

Her handsome, rugged boss felt his heart thump and his dick jump at her words. Rick grinned, catching hold of her hand and pulling her to her feet.

He led her out to the dance floor, and practically exhaled with relief when he finally had her body against his.

Rick's hard-on pressed into her pelvis, only wrapped in the flimsy fabric of her vibrant tube skirt. Michonne pushed her breasts against Rick's chest, looking up into his fierce blues with electricity tossing off sparks in her dark browns.

He pulled her flush against him, staring her down as she began to move and sway to the beat. Michonne mouthed the words, her lashes shading her heated gaze, making his nostrils flare and his lust boil in the pit of his stomach.

Everyone at the bar felt the cosmic energy wafting off the couple as they boldly wrapped themselves up in each other's arms. This was much different than Michonne and Mike.

Rick looked as though he knew each and every curve, valley, line and slope of her body. His hands roamed with expert purpose, his eyes only for her - and Michonne returned his stunningly intimate movements with equal intensity.

It was hot as fuck.

It was also forbidden, and kind of surreal for most of their family members. Michonne and Rick were only known to the group as close friends and partners. This was...several steps beyond that. It immediately eviscerated any chance they stood of reconcile with their significant others.

And it was about damned time. Everyone knew their leader had been merely playing house with his wife Lori for a long time, now. Everyone also knew that Michonne preferred boy toys, but when it came to her loyalty, her trust, her passion, her protection - and now, it was plain to see, her heart - she opened up to Rick Grimes like no other man in her life. Including Mike.

Michonne turned around suddenly and raised a hand to wrap her arm around Rick's neck. Her earth-shattering ass bumped and gyrated against his pelvis, lighting on his dick, coaxing and prodding his erection to its full, blazing hot glory. Rick buried his bearded face into her silky-smooth neck, boldly kissing the skin under her ear, like he'd always wanted to.

The music got into his head, her movements against him cast a spell on him, and he forgot about every single goddamned thing in the universe except Michonne.

"Are you fucking _seein' this,_ Jesus…?" Shane gaped around his toothpick at his best friend and best teammate practically dry humping each other on the dance floor. " _Please_ tell me you're seein' this."

"I am indeed." Jesus intoned appreciatively, his eyebrows raising to disappear into his blonde hair.

"Hot damn. They're really going for it." Maggie muttered, impressed.

"It's about damned time…" 'Drea smirked, finishing off Shane's beer.

The other couples may as well have been invisible, because every eye was on Rick and Michonne.

The sexy peacekeeper Snow twisted, gyrated, and bounced her ass and hips against Grimes' crotch to the sensual rhythm of the beat. All he could do was let her, holding her close, his hands roaming and clutching, swaying with her. At her mercy.

She was lost in the feel of him fitting around her like a sturdy glove, his grownup, musky scent invading her senses. His scruffy beard electrifying her, his feather-soft lips burning little stamps of his need all over her neck. The music and alcohol egged her on, and she forgot to give a shit who was watching.

Her fingers found his curls and probed, nails raking across his scalp with a delicious sting as she ground her hips into him, twerking to the beat. It sent Rick past the point of no return, driving him to detonate the nuclear option

He stopped dancing and turned her around to face him again. His by now very obvious (and totally shameless) erection was rubbing against her, making her wet. She finally looked up into his eyes, trapped against him, one hand in his, the other clinging to his black button-down.

"You got a ride home tonight?" Rick's husky drawl reached her ears as the music was coming to its contemplative close.

"No...Mike was my ride. Or a nice walk. Clear my head."

She didn't want to clear her head anymore. Neither did Rick.

"Let me take you?"

Rick shifted on his feet, his hand drifting down her backside to her firm ass. He squeezed, glaring down at her, seconds from kissing her in front of everyone. He was practically backing her to the door already.

Yeah, he was married. Everyone in Rovia's could plainly see what he was doing. He was making no attempts to hide how he felt about Michonne anymore.

He just couldn't bear it a single fucking day longer.

He was going to be in seriously deep shit tomorrow. Hell, maybe even tonight. But Rick didn't care.

Because he planned to shove all that bullshit aside and claim Michonne Snow for his, once and for all.

There was nothing to be done about it, except to run with it. His marriage would end, he might even have to share custody of his kids now, and he could forget about the years of saving for a bigger place all together. Lori would take that, and anything else she saw fit.

Before it had taken three years to wear him down, the fear of all that befalling him like a cloud of debris would've given Rick serious pause. Tonight, though, his feelings for Michonne trumped everything else.

She was worth it, he realized right then and there under the red glare. He would blame it on the alcohol, but he knew that'd be a cop out.

"You know I will." Michonne answered, massaging his neck, her fingers still cozy in his curls.

Rick immediately stepped back, his hands sliding from Michonne's body as they both turned to head for the door without another word. He almost couldn't believe she'd gone along, but her affirmative answer was all he needed to hear to get his boot-clad feet moving.

Everyone in the room watched them leave. The ones who knew them were stunned - but the other side of that coin was pretty much unanimous.

"About damned time…" Jesus muttered, smirking as Rick and Michonne disappeared from the red glare.

* * *

Rick let Michonne walk ahead of him as they made it down the long hall toward the exit, and out onto the street. The mist had let up, but it was still an overcast night, despite the dazzling lights of the towering city. Fog was now gathering on the levels above, obscuring what little they could see of the real sky.

His body was tense. He prowled rather than walked, eyeing her movement, thinking hard about what he was doing. There was no going back now.

They both knew it as their eyes caught and lingered before he stalked around to the pilot's side of his flyer. Michonne watched Rick make it there and he looked up at her again, standing back in hesitation, leaning to the side. They didn't speak. He seemed to be asking her with his eyes if she was sure, if this was what she wanted...and she was saying yes. This was what she'd been waiting for.

They got into the flyer, still not speaking, and Rick booted her up.

LIZZY chimed in, of course.

" _And just what do you think you're doing? Rick, your alcohol level is well above - "_

"Yeah, LIZZY, I hear ya. Set course for Michonne's place, _semi_ -auto." Rick growled, distracted by Michonne's radiating silence. "I can still pilot. You just navigate and watch out for crazies."

After a moment's pause in which the flyer rumbled and ascended, LIZZY finally relented.

" _This is inadvisable. I'll be_ _ **watching.**_ "

Rick clenched his jaw. She pulled this shit every time. She knew him inside and out. Computers and their algorithms.

LIZZY mapped the course in the blink of an eye and they were zooming forward along the digitized lane among the sporadic traffic, toward Michonne's apartment tower.

If it weren't for the fact that LIZZY always nagged him after a night at Rovia's, the long-time partners would feel even more tense and awkward than they already were. The omnipresent COMPANION™ program threatening to watch Rick's every move didn't help break the tension.

Neither did the fact that his dick was sitting hard and heavy in his snug black jeans, as hot and loaded as the souped up Python holstered under his arm. Meanwhile, Michonne's skirt was in danger of being marked by her yearning sex. She sat as far away from Rick as possible in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead.

 _What the hell were they doing?_ The panicked thought suddenly darted across her mind as Rick sped up and zipped past a few meandering flyers.

They had just walked out of a bar full of their friends and family - friends and family they had to work with every day - with nothing but the full intent to fuck on their minds. _Them._ Michonne and Rick, their leaders. The ones who were supposed to have their heads screwed on straight, more than anyone else. Their feet firmly down here on The Bottom, not up in the Skyscraper.

The ones who both had people they were supposed to care about to answer to. Michonne didn't exactly think she would mourn the loss of Mike terribly hard, but she wasn't completely heartless.

At least…she hadn't thought she was.

And Lori. And Carl. And even Judith. What was all this going to do to _them?_

But Rick's pull was just that strong. It always had been. Michonne was exhausted of resisting. That's why she was sitting in her partner's flyer, in a seat that was molded to the shape of her ass from so many runs, raids, chases and narrow escapes, headed toward a scary, but intoxicatingly alluring future.

Rick's gaze flickered toward her beautiful, though suddenly pensive face. "Michonne?" He probed, trying to pilot and watch her at the same time.

Finally, she looked at him. The pale blue beam of the city traffic lights falling across his face, casting his rugged jaw and electric eyes in shadow. He looked darkly, irresistibly sexy. And concerned.

"You still with me?" He drawled throatily with those pink lips of his.

And before he could stop himself, he reached a hand over from the wheel to take hold of hers in her lap. His warm, strong fingers laced between hers, and he gave her a beseeching squeeze.

Michonne let the rest of the world fade and nodded, squeezing back. "You _know_ I am, Rick."

Rick felt himself relieved, and excited, at her words. They were almost to Michonne's place; the entrance was conveniently on the same level as Rovia's. He wasn't paying attention to piloting so much anymore.

His eyes fell to her lips and his dick jumped impatiently. "Take over for me, would ya, LIZZY?"

" _Okaaaay…"_

LIZZY's voice was somewhat disconcerted, despite being granted her wish.

But she took over piloting the flyer as Rick leaned over and took hold of Michonne, pulling her into him across the small distance between their two bucket seats. She gasped and braced herself against him as he crushed his hot, electrified lips into her incredibly soft, plush ones.

Slowly, almost timidly, he indulged in his first taste of her.

He was instantly hooked.

His nostrils flaring, Rick exhaled roughly and leaned forward further, smashing himself into her as much as he could in the cramped space of the flyer. He began to take more and more kisses, faster and with more intensity each time. He clutched at her hard, his heart pounding.

This was what he'd been waiting for. There was no way he could stop now.

Michonne moaned, her nipples sprouting hard and aching, trapped inside her tank and vest. Rick kissed her lips eagerly, his gruff beard and slick tongue going to work on her, making her swoon.

"Goddamn it…" she hissed, unsatisfied, feeling herself start to leak. "I need you to fuck me, Rick."

" _Oi, break it up. We've arrived."_

LIZZY announced sternly, before abruptly continuing:

" _Your bio readings are concerning. My discretionary settings require me to 'say the least' about that."_

Of course, she ignored her discretionary settings, because goddamned Eugene thought he was funny.

" _Andrea and Shane register at these levels quite frequently, but in you two, I find this behavior - "_

"No one asked you. _Goodnight,_ LIZZY." Rick commanded, reluctantly pulling back from Michonne as the flyer finally powered down and LIZZY was forced to switch off.

He was still reeling from what Michonne had said, and how goddamned sexy it sounded. He wasn't going to refuse. Not tonight. _No turning back, Grimes,_ he told himself as he tried to get it together long enough to disentangle himself from her and get out of the flyer.

The cybernetic-human hybrid posted at the door nodded silently at them in greeting as they passed him.

Like Daryl's stupid asshole brother Merle, this one was blue. Cyborgs were outlawed in the Safe Zone, but hybrids were granted citizenship so long as they obeyed the laws. Rick never understood why anyone would want to alter themselves - get their flesh and bone all twisted up with machinery, their insides plugged into outer space, for all they knew.

Other peacekeepers from precincts on other levels were altered, some of 'em full blown hybrids. Abraham was always yacking about one day getting a cybernetic arm, maybe a machine gun. Sometimes Michonne would humor him by joking that she could go for a machine gun leg, if she ever found herself short a lower appendage. But everyone knew that was hogwash.

Rick didn't care if he lost his hand or _both_ his legs - he wasn't fusing any part of his body with a machine. Ever. Times were crazy, but he wasn't. Not by much. Not enough for that.

Once again, he found himself prowling behind Michonne as she led him into the dark, grim entrance to her apartment tower. It went on for five levels, but the bottom floor on level ten was the shell of what was once a huge brownstone.

The foyer and the empty rooms around it were practically cavernous. Cold, gloomy, and nearly decrepit.

Michonne's vibrant orange skirt stood out like a neon light in a sea of darkness. Her sword thumped against her ass as she walked. Her boots thumped against the cracked marble flooring as they walked past the mail transporters, her silver zippers ringing in time with the sway of her ass in that skirt. He continued stalking her silently as they moved on.

Rick eyed her up and down, burning up, the misty, glowing city at his back, a mountain of lust sitting heavy and molten in his abdomen.

Michonne felt his eyes all over her as she ascended the steps to the second floor elevator, where they'd get on and jet up to her floor on level eight. She liked to be as close to the top as possible.

She didn't know if they'd make it to the elevator. She swore she could feel his body heat reaching out for her as he followed her, and she could sense him getting closer and closer.

She barely made it to the top of the second floor staircase before Rick was on top of her, pushing up against her, his lead pipe of an erection sliding across her firm ass. He had her pinned against the heavy marble railing, trapped, surrounded by his intoxicating smell, warmth, and strength.

 _God, this was_ _ **finally happening**_...was all she could think.

After so long - actually, one-thousand, eighty-eight days, LIZZY would say - of those secret, blazing blue glances of his. Unspoken acts of affection, little touches here and there, growing gradually more and more intimate. Respecting her more with each day that passed. Trusting each other with their lives. Treating each other like family.

Followed by weeks of practically ignoring each other, feeling out of synch, steadily growing more frustrated with their intensifying attraction to each other (all while Michonne tried to convince herself that she belonged with Mike). This was finally fucking happening.

Rick wrapped a strong arm around her and pulled her closer with a grunt. Michonne's pussy pulsed as her ass landed smack against his hard-on. The impact sent heat skyrocketing through him. He buried his face into her neck from behind and exhaled, long and slow.

Michonne's lips parted and she panted, undulating against him, lost.

"Damn. I've _always_ wanted you, Michonne. You have no idea how bad."

He wanted to fuck her until she came all over him. Right now. He couldn't wait any longer.

Rick reached his free hand up to snake into her open leather vest and take hold of her heavy breast. He squeezed, massaging her hard, springy nipple with his palm, then pinching it between his fingers through the threadbare fabric of her tanktop.

Her thin panties practically flooded.

"Show me." Michonne managed to whisper through a haze of desire as Rick's other hand sought out the strap of her garter against her silky thigh. She began to grind her ass against him, teasing him like she had on the dance floor at Rovia's. He growled, his fingers digging into her meaty flesh.

He was already reaching into her tank top to feel her flesh against his, snapping her garters away from their tether to pull her panties down, exposing her soaking pussy.

Michonne gasped as Rick showered her with desperate kisses all along her neck, still rubbing her nipple between his deft fingers.

Electricity began to gather and spark across her breasts, down into her sex, making her clit throb for the way he was now thrusting his hard-on into her backside. Slowly, steadily, with barely contained restraint.

Michonne threw hesitation to the misty wind.

" _Fuck_ me, Rick."

Rick immediately pulled Michonne's skirt up from behind, loosening his grip on her to undo his belt and expose himself enough to get the job done.

Their panting and grunting echoed in the cavernous, damp deep of the hollowed out brownstone as they hastily shed themselves of barriers - until finally Rick grabbed hold of Michonne by the hip and _thrust_.

Michonne cried out quietly, her breath misting before her in the nighttime chill as Rick's thick, hard dick stroked into her hot, dripping pussy until he practically hit the back of her. He bottomed out with a hoarse groan, holding her in a vise-like grip, breathing hard into her hair.

She felt incredible. She was a tight, hot, wet canal. Silk and lava all at once, couched in the slickest, juiciest pussy he'd ever felt. And good lord, she had an ass like he'd never seen.

Rick was so long, unyielding, and _thick_ that he hurt a little. Michonne was purring like a kitten, perched on his dick, her back arched, her skirt hiked up, her garters hanging loosely with nothing to cling to. His big hand was still kneading her breast possessively.

" _Jesus Christ_ , Rick!" She hissed, despite herself, almost annoyed with him for catching her off guard like this. Her pussy was practically vibrating with the the urge to rut. "How the fuck did Lori handle this?"

She knew he and Lori hadn't exactly been having a fruitful love life for almost a year. And _he_ knew she'd been half-heartedly sleeping with a fast young jackass who didn't really know what the fuck he was doing, despite his enthusiasm.

" _Mmm,_ shut up and hold still, would ya?" He grunted with a crooked grin, pulling out slick and slow, then thrusting his thick head in again to silence her.

Michonne moaned helplessly, forgetting her astonishment. Rick paused, swaying with her a little, his face in her hair, both of them panting. He let her get used to his girth before filling her to the brim again, stroking her as deeply as he could go in their compromised position.

And then he began to fuck her. _Hard._

Her married, sexy, maniac boss proceeded to fuck the hell out of her against the large marble railing - bouncing her juicy ass against his pelvis and hips with explosive force. He held her tightly, breathing in her spicy sweet scent, kissing and biting her, pounding his thick Python into her over and over again while his other Python bounced heavily in its holster under his arm. " _Shit_ , 'Chonne!"

Rick was overwhelmed. His knees almost buckled as he leaned further into her and slowed down, thrusting still deeper, forcing her to brace a hand against the railing. Michonne's perfect body was finally against his, her wet sex pulling him in and thrusting him out again, so deep he never wanted it to end. Her fingers were in his curls, sending electricity shooting down his spine, and he thrust harder.

The impact and vibration each stroke set off fireworks through Michonne every single time, until she couldn't take it anymore.

"I'm gonna _cuuum_ \- !" Michonne purred at him, and he angled his face down to hers to take hold of that exquisite mouth again, egged on by her sexy voice.

They tried to devour each other in the dark stairwell. They created fleeting steam with their bodies in the chilly silence engulfing their moans. And Rick slammed into his partner until she came all over his pulsing dick. Except this was better than any fantasy he could conjure.

He couldn't help swallowing her fiendish moans by sucking them from her mouth, tasting her moist, pillow-soft lips. Feeling her tight walls quake around him sent him over the edge, and he let her mouth go to bury his face into her hair again and fuck her until he exploded. Michonne braced herself against the railing with both hands now, her locs falling over to partially obscure her face, her thick bottom lip trapped between her teeth as Rick took hold of her hips and drilled into her like a jackhammer.

Finally, he came, gushing into her hot and heavy. Rick bent over her, jerking and thrusting with the overwhelming force of it, crushing his eyes shut until it passed.

After a few moments of echoing silence, they finally straightened up. Rick pulled out and watched Michonne step out of her underwear. He swallowed hard and ran a hand through his thick, damp hair at the sight of her muscular, perfectly round ass peeking out at him from her still-hiked up skirt. Her glistening pussy lips beckoned to him. His mouth watered.

Michonne caught him looking and tossed her underwear at him. He caught them and they stared at each other as he gingerly used them to clean himself before tossing them in a trash incinerator nearby.

"Those were one of my lucky pair, by the way…" she murmured coolly as she snapped her garters back into place and smoothed her electric orange skirt back down her dark, delectable-looking legs. "You owe me. One boyfriend and one pair of lucky black panties. Plus damages for emotional stress."

"Emotional stress, huh?" Rick scoffed. She had no idea how hard it had been watching her fuck around with that stupid kid for five long, aggravating months.

"You heard me."

She was avoiding his gaze. Rick tucked in, zipped up, and stepped into her, grabbing her and forcing her to look at him.

He knew she was feeling guilty - both for what they'd just done and for what she'd said about Lori during. He wasn't. She'd been right. Lori had never quite found her confidence in bed, and frankly when they were first married he felt like he intimidated her. Besides...he didn't want to think about Lori right now. He only wanted to live the next couple of hours like none of it mattered. Because it didn't. He didn't know how he was going to tell Michonne his plans to come clean right away and not hide what he wanted from anyone, let alone Lori.

He just knew he didn't want things with Michonne to end here.

"Come upstairs with me." He drawled down against her lips, stroking her ass softly. Michonne looked up into his darkened, deep blue eyes and felt herself beginning to quiver for him yet again. "I'll make up for it."

His lips were mesmerizing. And his stroke game was amazing. She could stand a night of indecent behavior that she'd feel guilty for in the morning. The world was hell in a handbasket, anyway.

Snow raised an eyebrow, her belly heated and her nipples aching to feel his hot mouth and wet tongue licking and kissing them. " _How_ , Grimes?"

Rick tilted his head at her, grinning slowly. "By eatin' your pussy until you pass out, maybe…"

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Michonne was on her back in her dark bedroom, her legs barely able to stay open, with Rick's face buried between them.

The only illumination came from her wall-to-wall viewer, which was open halfway.

The zooming flashes of flyers, the periodic blinking of the cloud monitors on the spiraling towers, and shadows of the mist bathed them in inky light as Rick buried his thick, scorching tongue into her dripping pussy and sucked.

Michonne was _melting_...she was tender and sensitive and parts of her were alive in ways she had never felt.

Her long-time friend and partner gripped her hard in his strong hands, pulling her even closer to his exploring mouth, his dog tags sliding across the sheets or bumping cool and solid against her slick thighs as he licked and sucked on her slowly, indulgently.

Rick kissed her clit, licking it and tasting it. Memorizing it. Falling in love with it. He played with it and buried his nose against it and pulled it into his waiting mouth to massage attentively. Michonne was trembling, her legs going numb with white hot pleasure, her breasts so heavy yet simultaneously sensitive that the slightest breeze curled her toes.

 _Holy shit_ , he wasn't lying. He'd been 'making up for it' since they walked through the door and she immediately put her COMPANION™ ZANE to sleep until further notice.

Michonne arched her back, reaching up to latch her fingers into his hair, helpless for what else to do but cling to his muscular arm with her other hand. She dug her nails into her flesh when he began to fuck her slowly with his thick rod of a country boy tongue. Her feet roamed his back, his fingers sank into the meaty flesh of her thighs - and Rick went to town, growling like a bear with a honeycomb. The sensation of his scratchy beard coupled with his hot mouth and scorching tongue invading her drove her into a tailspin of ecstasy.

" _Ohhhh_..." she breathed, almost wanting to run away from it. "Rick! I'm gonna… _ooh, shit!_ "

"Mm, no you don't." He grunted, abruptly stopping his administrations.

"What?!" She hissed, stunned, sitting up to glare down at him. He looked up at her, his prismatic eyes on fire, his nose and chin dripping with her juices. "Are you fucking _serious?_ "

"Shut up and turn over. I'm not done with you yet." He ordered, glaring right back lustily.

Michonne wanted to say something to protest - but just as suddenly she also realized there was no point to that. Her attitude was nothing compared to that glint in his eyes. Not in here.

They'd both been waiting for this and goddamn it, there were both going to _enjoy_ it.

Michonne bit off her desire to curse him the fuck out - both because she had been _this_ close to cumming in his mouth, and because she knew she was good and ready for whatever was coming next.

Slowly dragging her gaze from his, she turned over onto her stomach. Rick watched her patiently, licking his lips of the delicious taste of her as she went.

She was always going against his orders out in the field. She was really fucking good at what she did, and her confidence was backed up by sheer, powerful, self-taught skill. He was sometimes overprotective, but he secretly enjoyed her defiance in battle.

Tonight, though, Rick wanted her pliant. Breathless. Soft and sweet and juicy. Her divinely carved body was going to tremble and quake around him tonight, he was determined.

His dick was rock hard and sitting heavy against his pelvis, not so patiently waiting to be inside her again.

But right now he wanted to lavish her with attention. He'd been stealing lingering looks at Michonne's body for years. This was so much better. He didn't know how long it would be before he could see her like this again - naked, submissive, and totally at his mercy.

She had battle scars here and there, like they all did, but they only accentuated her beauty to him.

Her shoulders were regal in their elegance, leading down to a dark umber valley of nearly flawless skin. Her spine dipped and then swung upward again, giving way to her amazing ass. Which he was about to finally have, all to himself.

Michonne gripped the sheets hard as Rick settled down on his stomach, his lower body propped up against the bed on his knees. He took hold of her again and pulled her against his face. He exhaled, his hot breath pushing against her thighs and dripping sex.

He kissed her there. She was coated in precum, so tender. Then he stuck his tongue out and licked her forcefully, from the bottom of her pussy to the top of her asshole, groaning. And he didn't stop.

Rick licked Michonne's ass and pussy like she was his last meal. Making her flesh vibrate in his hands, causing her to cry out in the darkness as a particularly obnoxious SUF rumbled passed her viewers with bright golden headlights. Then he removed his tongue and invaded her with two strong fingers, fucking her from behind while he continued feasting on her perfect ass.

"Now you can cum for me, baby." He growled, stroking her right where she needed him to with his fingers. Over and over and over - aided by his massaging tongue and scorching lips.

" _OHHH_ \- _FUCK! RICK!_ " Michonne called, pushing her ass into his face and riding him frantically, driven mad with mounting ecstasy. He slapped her ass with his big hand and grabbed her again, totally doing her in.

She came all over his chin and lips, groaning and writhing as he lapped up every drop that he could get to.

And while she lay panting against the cool sheets, he finally climbed naked up onto the bed and flipped her over, wiping his mouth. Michonne gazed up at him in a daze as Rick opened her legs and positioned himself between them, his hard cock dripping and so ready for her he was starting to ache.

Rick stared down at her slick, wet sex as he pulled her roughly up and onto his thick length. She whimpered with the pleasure of it and he groaned, immediately bowing over on top of her, pushing her legs up on his hips. Her rugged partner's hot lips found their way to one of her perfect breasts and he licked it into his mouth to devour for a moment, preparing her for what he was about to to do her now.

When he let her go, he began to piston into her, causing her to cry out. Rick kissed her as he invaded her, driving her crazy with the taste of herself, pinning her to the bed with both hands wrapped in hers above her head.

"I love you, Michonne…" he breathed against her lips, losing himself in the feel of her wrapped around him, finally right where he'd always wanted her. From the moment he lay eyes on her, realized as he slowed down and stroked deeper, trying to disappear inside her if he could.

"Shut up and fuck me, Grimes!" Michonne licked his chin and hungrily captured his lips with hers, sending a spike of molten hot lust shooting through his abdomen to his thrusting dick.

Until finally, after plundering her until she came again, Rick erupted. His entire body stiffened and his thrusts came to a paralyzed halt until it passed and he collapsed on top of her.

" _Goddamn…_ " he breathed huskily against her hot, damp skin. "I knew it."

They grinned at each other in the dark.

* * *

 **01:48**

Michonne's apartment was dead silent.

The dark was only penetrated by the streaking lights of the flyers and the illumination of the towers.

Rick and Michonne lay in bed, the lethal combo of the night's fighting, drinking, and fucking having exhausted them. Rick lay on his back, his dog tags stuck to his chest, his hand disappearing under the sheets where he was unconsciously stroking Michonne's backside in his sleep. His feisty samurai lay on her stomach next to him, one arm across his chest, unconsciously stroking tiny circles into his hot skin.

The end of Lori's shift had come and gone, and she would no doubt be calling around The Family soon in search of him. Carl and Judith had probably long since been dropped off and gone to bed. There was no telling what they would be getting out of Mike when they finally emerged from their den of sex.

But they were completely at peace.

And then:

" _Michonne, wake up._ _ **Now,**_ _baby girl. Rick, you too. Incoming call from the B-DP. Some shit's going down in T-District. All precincts are being called in for backup."_

ZANE announced urgently (unusual for him), ripping them both from their sleep. Seconds later, Michonne's lights began to flicker on and her hollow screen appeared abruptly.

They both jerked violently awake, jumping up from the bed. Rick grabbed his Python from her nightstand, and she her sword from propped against the wall as they tried to understand what was happening.

Then Rick saw Eugene's nervous, befuddled face and realized he was stark naked. And so was Michonne.

"Uuuhhhhhh….." Eugene sputtered, not knowing where to send his eyes through the holoscreen, as each and every bit of his boss and his partner were currently exposed. But that wasn't the problem.

They were together. In the same bed. Looking as though they had just been fucking each other. Instead of the people A) Rick was married to and B) Michonne was dating. He knew that because he knew Lori Grimes had just gotten off work and Mike was...well Mike was suiting up in the arms closet.

"T-there's ahhh…" Eugene cleared his throat hard and started over. "There's a problem, Rick. Michonne."

Michonne froze, and Rick stood up to his full height, lowering his pistol from aimed at the holoscreen at the foot of the bed. "What is it, Eugene?"

"There's a COMPANION™ goin' haywire up at the Skyscraper." Eugene got his act together and patched them through to his comm screen, where a map and logistics graphics gave them the rundown of the location of the attack. Michonne and Rick hastily got dressed as he rattled off the rest. "COMPANION's program name is GATUS, he's a Level Three, Model T-X-Nine-Oh-One-Two. State of the art, fresh outta the box. Way fresher than LIZZY..."

" _Oi! I control the oxygen in this entire facility."_

LIZZY chimed in.

"Sorry, LIZZY…" Eugene cleared his throat again. "Anyway - this one's a doosie, is what I'm gettin' at. Weapons uplink to the defense system, patched into comms, life support, wired to the whole goddamned building. The Mayor's evacuated but he's taken everyone left hostage."

"That can't be good…" Michonne muttered, shimmying into a pair of black, skintight pants and throwing on a top. She eyed Rick meaningfully.

A new COMPANION™ model meant it was not going to be easy to beat. In addition to being a coworker, a friend, an assistant or a therapist, COMPANION's were also ruthless soldiers. Which meant tactical strategies and weapons capabilities that came directly from the cloud - an infinite database.

"Piece of cake." Rick drawled cockily, grinning over at her as he buckled his belt and reached for his shirt.

Michonne rolled her eyes at Rick and threw on her boots. "Shit. Did we miss one? What's wrong with it? Does it want something?"

Eugene shook his head. "Unconfirmed. As far as me and LIZZY can tell, it's just got some kinda bug. But it's a very nasty, very intelligent bug. Heath's workin' on a debugging program now - strongest we can think of."

"Good." Rick confirmed, sliding his own boots and running a hand through his tussled sex hair. "Work fast. I want it up and runnin' by the time we get our feet on this thing, alright?"

"Yes sir." Eugene nodded seriously.

"Where's Mike and the others?" Mike was their point person in the field, and they needed to know where the rest of their team was, but still Michonne couldn't quite make eye contact with Eugene as she asked the question.

"Suitin' up. The others are already on their way. Just waitin' for you two."

"You said the Skyscraper?" Rick probed, to distract Eugene from focusing on what he'd just caught them doing. He eyed the map as he holstered his gun.

They never really had trouble at the Skyscraper. Not since Monroe started using cyborgs to protect it. Breaking her own rules, ' _do as I say, not as I do'_ style. Though she had an excuse. Plenty of the wrong people hated her, being the lord of one the only safe places left in the world, and she did not let just anyone inside. Seemed like all that paranoia had come back to bite her in that bony ass of hers.

"Fuckin' Monroe…" Michonne groaned as they finished dressing and told Eugene they'd be there in twenty.

"O-Okay, should I…" Eugene looked confused. "Should I tell your wife that you're not comin' home, or…?"

"Stay out of it, Eugene. _End call_ , ZANE." Rick grunted, following Michonne right through the holoscreen. "And send us a download of what we're walkin' in to."

" _On it, boss."_

ZANE confirmed, before adding:

" _Good luck out there. Later, baby girl."_

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR YOUR REVIEWS! And for sticking around.**

 **I hope you enjoyed this, because there will be more. This won't be the kind of love story you might expect.**

 **Next up…**

 **One last Richonne moment, perhaps the most important of all...**

 **The Family goes up against COMPANION™ GATUS...**

 **The fall...**

 **The resurrection...**

 **And a reborn Michonne...**

 **PS. Check out my tumblr for visuals and a soundtrack, because why not?**

 **-Kendra**


	3. the fall, part i

**A/N:**

 **The thunder before the storm.**

 **Not the moment you've been dreading yet, though.**

* * *

 _Written to the musical score of…_

'Recognizer', Daft Punk (TRON Legacy)

* * *

 _ **[Interview Log: Capt R. Grimes, B-DP]**_

 _ **[Passcode: _######]**_

 _ **[Authorizing Playback]**_

…

 _ **Skyscraper Command Encrypted Archive..**_

 _ **File Code: GATUS...**_

 _ **5/13/2071..**_

…

 **10:32**

Rick's hands were shaking.

His knuckles were bruised and stained with drying blood. Not all his. Some of it was Mike's.

He was in the Skyscraper Command bunkers, twenty city blocks away from the blast zone.

They kept it extra cold in the holding cells down here, three levels underground. But that wasn't why Rick was shaking. The hot, unrelenting adrenaline of rage was still pumping through him. The cold was the only thing keeping the fury from erupting. Turning his body to ash. Like the pile of ashes where they found Michonne's sword.

Rick sat there, staring, but his glistening blue eyes couldn't really see the room he was in.

He couldn't stop picturing Michonne's face. Right before she jumped from Tyrese's armored flyer.

Disobeying his orders. As usual.

She had been smiling brightly. She had said the words, finally. His heart had soared with her.

Now, she was gone. And Rick's heart was destroyed.

All he wanted now was to keep fighting. To punch something until he broke his hand or broke whatever it was he was lashing at. Less than half an hour ago it had been Mike's face and rib cage, in the hallway of the critical care ward at T-District Memorial. Where they'd all been waiting around for news on Abraham.

Then it was the hybrids they sent to subdue Rick until they finally managed to drag him here and left him alone to crumble in silence. The last of his people he'd seen before they basically hogtied him after pulling him off of Mike was Lori, Sasha, 'Drea and Shane. All looking as though they pitied him.

Except Lori. She looked furious. Of course she was. She had a right to be.

But none of that mattered to Rick. It was all a blur. They were all merely echoes in the ether.

 _Michonne's_ face was the only thing that kept reappearing over and over in his mind on a loop as he sat there staring at his blood-stained, trembling hands. His wedding band that was wrapped around his ring finger was no longer burning him like a cattle brand. It was cold now. Everything was cold.

Except the fury. It remained, scalding him from the inside out.

Michonne. She had been smiling. So beautifully. She had said the words. He would never hear her smooth voice say them again. Say _anything_ again.

The room seemed as though it had turned to liquid. A freezing, crushing tide that was going to drown him at any second. He welcomed the imaginary oblivion as his grief nearly choked off his air supply.

The auto door to the holding cell suddenly slid open and Skyscraper Command Chief Dallas Watson came in, looking tired and stern but still quite young for someone in her position.

She was the Skyscraper's chief of security and Monroe's personal strong arm of 'the law'. Rick and his people were technically mercenaries for hire, even though they operated under deputization and funding from Skyscraper Command. It was a tenuous alliance, at best. But it worked in everyone's favor. Peace was the name of the game in the Alexandria Safe Zone.

At any cost. Both Rick and Dallas knew this, as did everyone. It was the unspoken rule here.

Rick barely lifted his head to acknowledge her as she sighed, watching him with an uncommon mixture of empathy and forbidding authority creasing her normally smooth face. Watson was petite, and shorter than most, but she wasn't someone to fuck with.

Rick remembered Michonne following her career as she rose in rank at Command.

There weren't many black women in positions of authority in Safe Zone City (some things never changed, Michonne sometimes said while rolling her eyes). The chief held the highest, third to the mayor. And likewise, Dallas had been watching the fierce samurai's achievements from afar as well. Whenever they crossed paths, Rick always noticed, she'd been particularly friendly with Michonne. Despite them working on opposite sides of the political spectrum.

One didn't exactly come across too many 'friendlies' among the Powers That Be in this day and age.

Dallas had been impressed by and respected Michonne Snow. The loss of such a formidable defender of their world was devastating, especially for those women and children out there whom Michonne had always looked out for, protected. The ramifications of her death would be felt throughout the levels.

But the worst of that tectonic shift in the Safe Zone's sense of security was still silently occurring right here in this chilly, sterile holding cell.

The Command chief knew how difficult it was for this captain of peacekeepers to sit there quietly without exploding.

She knew that Michonne had been his partner. His best friend. Perhaps even more, if one followed their history together with any speck of shrewdness. Coming up through Command training, Dallas had heard many stories about Rick Grimes and Michonne Snow. She'd always thought of Rick as a good man, despite his near-legendary brutality. Even in the middle of all this gory mess he was currently caught up in, he was still a family man. That was rare in this day and age.

And anyone that held Michonne Snow's skills and authority on the same level as (and many times above) his own was worth the benefit of the doubt.

She'd gotten word that a peacekeeper had lost it right outside the operating room where they were working to save what was left of Sgt. Abraham Ford's arm. He almost beat a man into a coma, they reported. She had insisted on handling this case herself when she heard it was Rick Grimes. She owed it to Michonne. To them both.

So here she was.

She kept her distance, for now. The quiet in the room was so thick one could cut into it with a knife.

Rick just sat there, his curls hanging damply in his eyes from all the sweat he'd accumulated beating a guy senseless and resisting arrest. He looked dazed. Trapped somewhere that wasn't here.

She could imagine where.

Dallas cleared her throat, running a hand through her wavy, shoulder-length bob. She ignored Rick ignoring her and reached up to touch the invisible holoscreen that separated her side of the steel table from his. Skyscraper Command's COMPANION™ program was down, of course, so everything would have to be manually accessed and run until further notice.

Four sections of the holoscreen appeared - one of which showed footage taken by the cloud beacons of the battle between every peacekeepers' precinct in the city and one corrupt COMPANION™.

GATUS.

Another showed a running roster of this morning's casualties with archival 3-D imagery of them from head to shoulders. The small three-dimensional busts turned this way and that, staring straight ahead sightlessly as they floated mid-air over the table. Michonne's was last, preceded by Glenn, Tara, Tobin, Gabriel. Then the critically injured, including Abraham and a few others from the precincts scattered across the levels. Abe was gonna get his wish after all. They'd had to take his arm. It was mangled beyond repair by the fully-armored, virtually unstoppable sentinel tank GATUS had ambushed them with.

Rick refused to look at the images, nor the maps or the write-ups in the case file that she had put on display in the air above his head.

He just sat there. His world had stopped as far as he was concerned. His mind was trapped in an infinite loop of anguish. And the burning fury persisted, just under the surface.

Chief Watson decided not to force him to speak just yet. She would simply debrief him, first - show him at least that much respect. Then she'd have to start the interrogation.

She knew in time he'd understand. It was better for her to be doing it than the mayor. Or one of her recently acquired henchmen. These were hybrids of the nastiest caliber. Brand new technologies were being developed, tested and implemented every day, and Monroe was pushing through more. The latest results in her experimental machine army were virtually identical protection hybrids - made from the donated DNA of the same man, a renowned peacekeeper from what used to be Chicago. Smith.

Well, now an army of Smiths. Cloned. Uplinked to everything like GATUS had been. Thorough. And deadly. So far only a handful of them had been made, over the chief's head. But if the beta testing was successful out here in the real world, who knew how many more would be grown in those test tubes in Monroe's secret labs.

Today's huge catastrophe would no doubt push the mayor's paranoia over the edge. The cyborgs she'd had shipped in and the GATUS program she'd installed had all gone rogue in less than thirty-two hours. The diplomatic repercussions would be massive. This whole thing was a huge mess. She had a million things on her plate; she should be holding press conferences, she had meetings to arrange with the other chiefs from the outer colonies. Not to mention answering to do to Mayor Monroe, whom she was currently avoiding.

Instead of all that, Dallas was here. Trying to get somewhere with a broken madman.

She started with the easy stuff.

"You fractured six bones in Mike Gaston's face, captain. Bruised two of his ribs. Pretty impressive for a full human, the hybrids would say. I'd agree." Rick flinched at the sound of her low, soft voice. His blue eyes shifted across the table surface, but he said nothing in return. She kept on: "He had to have emergency surgery in the hybrid ward, but he'll be good as new in no time."

She raised a perfectly arched eyebrow at his bowed head, her hand resting against the high-velocity weapon holstered at her jutted hip.

"I dunno if I can say the same for his ego..." Rick didn't respond to her jokes. Instead he simply sniffed and finally lifted his head, an electrical storm raging in his blue eyes. "He wants to press charges." Dallas got serious with him again. "Now, I did a bit of smooth talkin', but you're real, _real_ lucky. You almost put that man in a coma."

Rick's jaw hardened as he glared at her. He didn't speak, but he may as well have uttered ' _I_ _ **should**_ _have'_.

Dallas set _her_ jaw in defiant answer. Right. It was this kinda bullshit that was gonna get him thrown onto _The Grid_ if he weren't careful. She was trying to help him and he still couldn't see past his own anger.

And grief, she had to remember. His unimaginable grief. The chief softened.

"Look. At the very _least_ I should be givin' you time in Max, workin' in the factories - thirty weeks hard labor, that ain't no shit to scoff at, Rick."

She had to take a deep breath to calm her temper. She hated when smug assholes got testy with her, but Rick wasn't just any asshole and this wasn't just any situation. He was a good guy, she had to remember. He meant a lot to Michonne. Michonne meant a lot to _him_. He was hurting.

"It's gonna be okay. Under the circumstances, I get it. I smoothed it over. Gaston gets transferred to another precinct as soon as he recovers. You get no charges. I owed you one."

She had really owed _Michonne_ one, but there was no way she was going to mention that name at this moment. Not yet. He clearly wasn't ready. She'd have to keep cooling his molten ire as best she could so they could _really_ talk.

"You just gotta...you know, take some time off. Go home. Spend some QT with your wife and kids."

Rick stared at her. Looking as though the last thing he wanted was to try to live a normal life now that a huge chunk of it was missing. Ripped out by its roots.

More easy stuff. Just to get him to calm that active volcano inside of him.

"Abraham Ford is gonna be okay, too. He's stable. Recovering. He's got himself a new battle arm. Word on the cloud comm is he's already grinning in his sleep."

Rick finally scoffed, his lips twitching into a ghost of a smile.

Another deep breath, and the chief surged ahead. Now the hard stuff.

She raised her hand and swiped it across the holoscreen, pushing everything to the side where it rearranged itself to line up like a sidebar. Ready for her to pluck out info streams to expand and view at will. Dallas pulled out a chair and sat down across from him, folding her hands across the table and meeting his gaze head on.

"Now we need to talk about what happened back there. About GATUS."

His eyes remained fixed on hers. His very brief, very faint relief at hearing that his friend was going to be okay had vanished in an instant. His jaw was clenched so hard, it felt like he could break it at any second.

The heartbroken peacekeeper gave an almost imperceptible nod for her to ask her damn questions.

"Why don't we start from the beginning? When you got the APB." Dallas surged on, ignoring his bloody hands and reaching up to pluck out a narrow video stream of footage from the attack. It was taken by the cloud beacons posted all over the city towers. The time and location stamp on the footage read: ' _02:56:15 | File Code: GATUS_ _| Level 3'_ \- of the Skyscraper tower. The garage. Where the tank ambushed them.

"Your unit arrived on the scene before you and Captain Snow, correct?"

Rick's throat was bone dry. He swallowed hard, shifting in his chair.

"That's right," he drawled hoarsely.

They had been late because they'd been coming from Michonne's place. Because they had finally been _together_. A single tear escaped his right eye as he tried to adopt a professional demeanor. This was important to him, she could plainly see.

"You and what - three other precincts engaged in direct contact?"

"Yes."

He wanted to add: ' _and where were_ _ **you?**_ ' But he knew where shed'd been. In Monroe's bunker.

Along with all the rest of the inexpendable force.

The footage showed the flashes of HV bullets flying back and forth between peacekeepers, cyborgs, and that goddamned tank. Some guys from other precincts had perished. Everyone suffered heavy injuries. They had to pull back. Then Glenn. Tara. T-Dog. It was all right there, replaying over and over on a loop. Why Dallas needed Rick to confirm all this horror verbally was beyond him.

Of course he _knew_ why, for the official record. Everything was computerized, but good old fashioned eye-witness testimony was still a staple in law enforcement. It had to be. Humans were still supposed to be the ones on top of the food chain, after all.

While Rick had no desire to have his heart ripped out again, he also knew that he was lucky it was Dallas doing this and not someone (or some _hybrid_ ) else.

Rick adjusted himself in the stiff chair again, ignoring the looping footage on the holoscreen.

"First reports outta the gate were that GATUS had taken over the entire cyborg fleet. The shiny new ones." He began, his throaty drawl ragged from all the crying and fighting he'd done in the last few hours. "They were crawlin' all over the damn place. Hard to break through, no matter how many of 'em we took down. We had the tower surrounded - but it made no difference."

Rick shrugged, slowly. His eyes wide, his body stiff, fighting off the pain. The memories played before his vision like a movie reel he couldn't switch off. He reached up to rub a bloody hand down across his face, over his beard. The blood was dry, so it didn't leave a streak, but Rick looked like he'd been through hell and back. He didn't seem to notice or care at all that he was a mess.

He kept talking, now reliving the last eight hours.

"So we went for a ground operation. Tried to infiltrate from the garage level up." He had to pause, losing his voice for a moment. Dallas watched patiently. Finally, he continued: "We figured we at least had a chance to get the hostages out, even if we couldn't save the Skyscraper. But...GATUS had that covered, too. _He_ had _us_. He had everything."

He jerked his chin at the footage he still refused to look at directly. Instead he continued to glare at Dallas.

"Give the report, captain." She urged.

So he did. Rick braced himself, trying with all his might to get through this without breaking down.

"The only thing left after that was an areal approach. Our debug program failed. Our ground operation was a disaster. We lost too many people." He shook his head, now staring sightlessly again at the steel table surface, fighting back tears. "She was right…Michonne. She'd been right all along."

He fortified himself against the trauma as best he could as he recounted the worst morning of his entire life. The one that had directly followed one of the best nights he'd ever experienced.

* * *

Rick and Michonne stood under the dim orange glow of the lights in her building's elevator, going down.

The illuminated levels passed them steadily in pale beams as the contraption hummed against the silence.

Rick was standing close to her, his head bowed slightly, his hand resting on his hip. He still smelled of his grown man's cologne, now mingled with faint, intoxicating traces of her cum. There was a very small smirk playing at his plush lips.

Lips that had been attached to her quivering, dripping pussy less than an hour ago.

Michonne finally turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow as she crossed her arms. "What's on your mind, Grimes?"

They would usually be rattling off battle plans at each other before anything else. Abe and Shane jokingly called them the Wonder Twins for how they zoned out together in their own little tactical world. When they had a solid plan formed with mutual agreement (for the most part), they'd let everyone else in on the action. But they were late to the game tonight.

Rick shrugged, sniffing with fake nonchalance. He glanced over at her but returned his eyes to the holoscreen floor counter quickly, shifting on his feet a bit.

"Nothin', Captain Snow. Just...puttin' my mental warpaint on. Abe has his road music, I have my moment of silence."

"Bullshit." She whispered, studying the cut of his handsome profile.

This 'moment of silence' was loaded with a lot more than just his mental mantras, which she knew perfectly well didn't exist. There was something else on his mind. And she could guess what. She had heard what he'd said - what he'd whispered passionately against her panting lips as he thrust his enormous cock inside of her thoroughly pampered sex.

She hadn't been prepared for it, even though she'd secretly been waiting to hear it for quite a while.

It was nothing but the truth, she knew. Rick was an honest man. It was one of the things _she_ loved about _him_. When it came to saying it back, however...she knew there was something else she wanted. Another time. A different kind of feeling in her gut. Another place. Not on a night when she should be nursing the wounds of her old relationship, a night that found them sneaking away from a dive bar that was like a second home to them to go cheat on his wife in her apartment.

Those words belonged to Rick in that moment. She wanted them not just to be his, but _hers too_. They were there, hovering just inside of her. They'd been growing from seedlings since those first weeks when The Family took her in. When Rick was still learning to trust her, and she him. When she got to know his kids and saw how _good_ he was.

Rick Grimes. Father. Peacekeeper. Maniac. And hers now, after all this time. "Hey. Look at me."

He finally turned to look at her again as they came within a couple of levels of the lobby, immediately softening under the spell of her gaze. They stared at each other in tense, electric silence. Michonne searched for a way to explain all this to him in the few precious seconds they had before those elevator doors slid open and they had to go to work.

"I heard what you said. And I _wanted_ to - "

"It's alright, Michonne." Rick cut her off, his heart skipping a beat and his gaze suddenly becoming guarded. He dropped those gorgeous blues of his just as the elevator slid to a smooth halt on the second floor. "You don't have to say anythin' back."

He breathed through his nostrils, unsure how to maintain his composure in this small, orange space. With her looking so beautiful and the dead weight of their _amazing_ evening together slipping through his fingers like sand through an hourglass.

So he decided to make a joke. He turned back to her, scrunching his handsome, fuzzy face up. "' _Shut up and fuck me, Grimes'_...? Really? Three years and _that's_ the best you could come up with?"

The doors slid open and Michonne laughed as they sauntered out together. She swatted at him, relieved to hear him joking as she passed him into the hollowed out brownstone facade. He shook his head at her, believing her to be the most beautiful thing his eyes had ever landed on.

"Oh, _please,_ old man. You should've considered that before you made me wait to cum. What about all that ' _shut up and turn over'_ gumbo you were growling at me?"

Rick rubbed his chin and followed her bouncing katana through her dark, cavernous apartment building.

"Shut up," he drawled, doubling down, his eyes now glued to her backside. "You were purrin' at me like a cat in heat. You loved it. " _Even though you couldn't say you love_ _ **me**_ , he thought as disappointment ricocheted through him again.

Before they reached the stairs leading down to the foyer landing (just as they were passing by the marble railing where he'd fucked her into submission the first time), Michonne stopped and turned to face him.

He exhaled, struck by her beauty, even in the dark.

Her eyes beseeching, their time running short, Michonne leaned into Rick and kissed him hard.

Her divinely cut body melted against his as he slid an arm around her waist underneath her katana, the fingers of his other hand lacing through her dreads at the nape of her neck. He held her tightly, sucking tenderly on her bottom lip, his big dick getting hard in his snug jeans. Michonne melted that tense disappointment right out of his body with her sweet lips and quiet little breaths, uttered into his mouth and against his chin. Her fingers prowled gently through his beard as his hand roamed to give her thick ass a firm, possessive squeeze.

When they finally let go of each other's mouths, panting in the dark like before, he sighed hard. He was gone. They both were. No turning back, now.

"I _will_ say it back, Rick." Michonne promised him quietly. "When the time is right. For _me_. Got it?"

He nodded slowly. Of course he would wait for her. He'd been waiting for her all this time. He would wait for her forever if she asked him to. What else was he gonna do? He was in love with her.

Rick Grimes had fallen into a deep spiral of hard, heavy, intense, irrevocable love with Michonne Snow. She was _his_ , whether the words came out of her mouth right this moment or a hundred years from now.

She gave him a poke in the shoulder. "And I'm gonna _mean_ it."

"I know you will." Rick growled, taking another kiss. Then he smacked her ass, pushing his eagerness to be with her for years and years to come down into his belly.

He could wait, just a little longer. One more night, maybe two. He had to. It was time to head into battle, now. They were already late and they would face scrutiny despite the circumstances, they both knew.

"Come on, princess. The guys are probably gettin' themselves fitted for shiny new assholes by now. " Rick rolled his eyes at the concept of an impatient computer, adding: "And you know damn well LIZZY's wires are shootin' off sparks, waitin' on us. We gotta jet."

"Is _everything_ outta your mouth from the Looney Toons archive?" His partner in (soon to be) all things gave a little shriek when he smacked her, but followed it up with one of her trademark quips.

He ignored her jab for now, having been down the road of making the mistake of comparing his parenting skills with hers. Rick got to sit up on Saturday mornings and watch cartoons on the cloud archive with his kids. She didn't. There was never any appropriate response to something like that. She sometimes didn't realize what she was saying until the pain hit her. Rick had learned never to point it out to her.

Michonne went silent, like he knew she would, as they made their way down the marble stairs.

He was just happy they were on the same page again about moving forward. They had an understanding. And as it always was with them, once they were in agreement on something, there was no need to bring it up again. Until there was a need to bring it up again.

Rick and Michonne sauntered out of her building side-by-side, where Rick's flyer was already powered up and waiting for them.

" _Pfft._ Gumbo…" Rick scoffed, changing the subject as the trunk automatically popped open when LIZZY sensed their approach. "That shit was necessary, you ask me. You're a wildcat, anybody ever tell you that?"

The partners reached into the pelican cases installed into the body of the Charger flyer. They had identical grins on their faces, preparing to do what they did best as they began pulling out souped up weapons, checking their ammo, and holstering them to various parts of their bodies. Rick picked up his red-handled machete last and hooked it in place on his hip, watching Michonne stand back with her shapely hip jutted out, tying her locs back partially from her face with one of her colorful bandanas.

"Besides, you think _Mike_ coulda made you cum like that?" He uttered slyly, getting her back for Lori earlier. " _Multiple_ times?" He seriously doubted it, feeling cocky again.

"Don't get glib on me, old man." Michonne avoided his questions, fixing him with a sexy, forbidding gaze as she checked the clip on her HV glock and holstered it. "Especially since you're _clearly_ the girl in this forbidden love affair."

He shook his head defiantly, his grin spreading wide at her little 'love' slip as the trunk closed and they separated to climb into their respective sides of the flyer. "How the hell do you figure that, Snow?"

"Who says the Big Three first? Come on, man." Her big brown eyes were sparkling wickedly.

 _Damn_ , she was beautiful. Even when she was giving him shit.

"You're gonna pay for that one." Rick growled, _his_ shiney blues heating over with lust. "I'm comin' after your kill count on this thing. And then I'm comin' after _you._.." he added, his dick jumping with the realization that he was free to do that now.

Michonne bit her bottom lip, catching his meaning. Her pussy gave a little shudder, remembering how goddamned big he was inside her.

" _Hate to break up the love fest, but we need to_ _ **shift**_ _, you two!"_

LIZZY interrupted urgently as they reluctantly broke eye contact and slid into the worn-in bucket seats. She practically choked them, strapping their seatbelts on so fast. Rick and Michonne got serious, the easygoing levity fading from their spirits as Rick got the flyer prepared for a fast flight upward.

"Okay, LIZZY, set course for the action up Top and gimme the bullet. Cliff's Notes version, if you can." Rick instructed their trusted COMPANION™ as the holoscreen zoomed in on the tower coordinates and mapped a digitized flight path up to the T-District.

" _Yep. Preparing for takeoff…stand by."_

LIZZY was already a step ahead of him.

The flyer began to make a sharp ascent toward the upper levels. The air would become less dense, the night sky less dark, as they climbed to the very top of the city of towers. The lights up there were more brilliant and colorful, the commerce and entertainment was more neveau, more decadent.

In T-District, politicians, scientists and a cornucopia of Powers That Be hoarded diplomatic immunity over virtually everything going on down on the Bottom. The higher you went into the city, the snottier the peacekeepers became, too. Most hybrids had a bit of a superiority complex. Or they acted like jacked up celebrity athletes from back in the day when a good old fashioned game of football was enough to satisfy the public's bloodlust.

This was gonna be a fun morning.

LIZZY rattled off her Cliff's Notes of their situation:

" _Pulling updated reports on COMPANION™ GATUS...Eugene is right, this one is a nasty piece of work, Rick. He has control of: Tower junctions one through nine, including life support, internal and external comms, cloud archives, defense grid, and now - hang on, pulling report..."_

Michonne opened the compartment that used to be a thing that stored gloves once upon a time, but was now a thing that housed her computer console. She pulled it out to start coordinating with Heath and Eugene back at headquarters while Rick got them up to the scene and LIZZY got them up to speed.

" _GATUS has now assumed one-hundred percent control of the cyborg sentinels patrolling the perimeter at junctions Four, Eight, and Three…"_

LIZZY informed them matter-of-factly as they zoomed upward.

Footage and stats on the deadly fuckers were being displayed on the holoscreen while a 3-D blueprint of the Skyscraper tower identified the areas they patrolled. They were metal skeletons in form, with gleaming infrared eyes and _big_ HV shooters. The blasts from those babies looked like they could incinerate you if all you were made of was flesh and bone.

" _Titanium alloy exoskeleton, made in Former Korea. Calibur X-9_ _ **hyper**_ _-velocity shooters. Semi-autonomous, operating on direct orders uploaded from Command Center comms, which GATUS also controls. Tactical learning capabilities at ninety-eight-point-oh-three percent and rising…"_

"Holy shit." Rick grunted, his hand gripping the wheel hard. He exchanged glances with Michonne as her fingers flew across the keys of her computer. She was uploading the debugging program from Heath.

"Don't put a call in to the Trinity just yet, boss…" She tried to reassure him, but she was beginning to get the same sinking feeling in her gut that he was. It had nothing to do with their rapid ascent.

The last cyborg models they'd ever encountered hadn't been learning machines. That had been two years ago. Times had changed, apparently, and these _were_. That meant they could anticipate offensive moves and they'd get better at counteracting them every time. Ninety-eight percent and rising was no fuckin' joke. Being plugged into both Command Center comms and the cloud through GATUS also meant that they could learn to pilot any flyer, operate any shooter, and blueprint any building or layout within seconds. Or find anyone, anywhere - and they did not stop to sleep, eat, have a conscience, nothing.

They did three things: murder death kill.

Rick hated these new bastards even more than the old models, right off the bat.

"What's everyone else's twenty?" He demanded, sitting up straighter in his seat and clenching his jaw in hesitant agreement with Michonne. He couldn't start thinking that negatively now. They hadn't even gotten there yet. They didn't know the whole story.

" _All six precincts have armored flyers surrounding the tower. We've evacuated the area of civilians. There is a ground operation underway. Heath and Eugene are uploading the debugger now."_

"Yeah, I'm getting it." Michonne confirmed for LIZZY. She watched the uploading symbol on her dusty little computer screen impatiently as Rick flew like a skilled lunatic.

" _Standing by for roll call, Rick."_

LIZZY informed, aiding him in zipping successfully through traffic as they got closer and closer to the Top. She was all business when they went to work, and that was something he could respect about the sassy jumble of wires and manufactured synapses that they called teammate.

"Put 'em through." Rick granted her without hesitation.

If he knew his crew, they were already in the thick of it. And if those reports about the cyborgs were true, he needed to know about injuries or potential casualties. Even Mike was a precious asset and teammate, despite what a brat he could be. Rick also needed to get a plain English handle on what he and Michonne were about to land in.

LIZZY patched the first in the anxious queue of comms channels through on the bottom corner of the holoscreen.

It was Tyrese, from the M-DP on level six. He was in his armored flyer with his baby sister Sasha at his side and a couple of his teammates moving around in the background. His tough but kind face was glistening with sweat as he rumbled and tumbled, navigating his flyer around the tower. His booming voice sounded out to them:

" _Yo_ \- big boss, it's about damn time y'all joined us out c'here."

"Talk to me, guys. You're my eyes and ears." Rick got down to business.

He and Michonne could see the melee in the distance, now. The Skyscraper was finally visible, and it was surrounded by flyers.

Streaks of bright blues, reds, and golds were flying back and forth through the pitch black, early morning sky. The dazzling, spiraling tower loomed high at the center of the standoff, plumes of fire and smoke erupting from its insides every now and then as the cyborgs defended some of its levels.

Michonne sat back, ignoring her computer and Tyreese for a moment, taking it all in. They were about to land in a fuckin' war zone.

Rick's cold blues darted between the vision he saw of the fight in the distance and Tyreese and Sasha's serious faces on the holoscreen. "I don't like what the fuck I'm lookin' at out there, Ty. Sasha?"

"You ain't gonna like hearing it either, boss." Sasha informed them grimly, looking pale, blood running down her face from a small gash in her brow. "We've got eight COMPANION's trying to hack this fucker, but it is _state-of-the-art_. And it is _crazy as hell_."

"What the fuck does that _mean_ , Sash?" Rick barked, his chest tightening as he gunned it toward his friends. His thrusters jetted them forward in a flash.

" _It means that not only is COMPANION™ GATUS untethered from the Three Laws, he is also two steps ahead of us and_ _ **well**_ _-prepared, Rick."_

LIZZY cut in to clarify.

Rick and Michonne exchanged looks again. This was getting worse and worse.

" _His firewalls are inexplicably complex jumbles of billions of streams of data. He has breached netspace that is beyond our capabilities to decode completely."_

"And if you and the other District COMPANION's get too bogged down in data decoding, you risk being corrupted by that bug, whatever the fuck it is." Michonne finished for her, her mind putting the pieces together as she now glared at the holoscreen.

" _Affirmative, Michonne. As of now, we can only slow GATUS down, but not by much. I am sorry."_

LIZZY confirmed.

"Alright, alright, let's hold our horses and think of somethin', then." Rick interrupted, determined to figure a way out of this without losing too many people.

They were approaching the scene now, coming up on Level 3. Tyrese's flyer was there, attempting to break through the cyborg blockade so they could scoop up Maggie and the other guys from the B-DP.

Mike, Daryl, 'Drea, Shane and the others were still unaccounted for.

" _You had better think quickly, mate."_

LIZZY countered Rick, her disembodied voice sounding quite grave now.

" _GATUS has engaged a self-destruct countdown. Fifty human and human-cybernetic hybrids remain trapped inside, Lower Level B. The mainframe archives."_

* * *

 **[Reversing Playback]**

…

 _ **Safe Zone City Cloud Archives..**_

 _ **Bottom District Precinct, Level 12..**_

 _ **File Code: GATUS...**_

…

 **01:24**

Heath and Eugene were nodding off in the bullpen while Mike sat with his feet propped up on a cluttered desk, staring at the holoscreen.

He was fuming. So furious, his smooth brown skin was glistening with a light sheen of sweat. He listened to Eugene snoring and ignored Heath's head bobbing precariously against his chest. He just stared at the carnage playing out before him. He had gotten drunk enough to finally move past replaying his breakup with Michonne outside Rovia's over and over again in his head.

Her finally admitting it. The motherfuckin' words came right outta her pretty mouth.

She didn't want him anymore. She wanted Rick. It was over. Just like that. Heartless _bitch._

Mike now watched Negan's maniacal face as he grinned and hammed it up for the crowd - swinging his baseball bat wrapped in always-bloody barbed wire around like a maniac. "Isn't she sexy? Ohhh Lucille is her name and bashin' skulls is her gaaaame, people!" he would sing for the throngs of degenerate crowds.

Sometimes he would go on a bashing spree, taking out thirty walkers at a time. Sometimes he bashed in the heads of humans. Lowlives that got thrown onto _The Grid_ for one tragic reason or another. Criminals. Fugitives. Exiled resistance fighters, the kidnapped offspring of safe zone lords and diplomats from all over what was left of the world, hybrid runaways - and the hits just kept on coming.

"And what have we _here_ for you tonight, boys and girls?" Negan drawled flirtatiously on the holoscreen, and Mike pictured his hybrid henchmen dragging Rick motherfuckin' Grimes into _The Grid's_ bloody arena. "We got ourselves a _reeeeaaallll liiiiiive PEACEKEEPER! The only peacekeeper worth a single damn, in my humble-oh. Rick 'The Savage',_ _ **Grimes!**_ " The thunderous crowd surrounding him would erupt into deafening applause as he hammed it up. "Do I not get you the best shit or do I not. Get. You. _THE. BEST._ _ **SHIT!**_ "

Mike let himself fall into a furious fantasy, in which he and Rick were pitted against each other on the bloody _Grid_. He pictured himself using every dirty trick in his disposal to break Rick down, inch by inch, cut by cut, blow by blow, until there was nothing left of his smug fuckin' face for Michonne to love.

A shrill beeping alarm interrupted his malicious thoughts, causing the two geeks sleeping near him to jerk violently awake.

" _Incoming APB! Wake up, Sleeping Beauties. It's Skyscraper Command, Bunker Two."_

LIZZY chirped, causing Mike to wince in annoyance.

He hated her attitude sometimes. He always had a mind to convince Heath to give him the passcode to her settings so he could turn her into a docile little lamb, out of spite. Eugene thought he was a fuckin' genius, with the way he programmed her and fucked with shit around the B-DP, but he was really just a little boy playing with his dick and a bunch of childish nonsense, as far as Mike was concerned.

The three of them listened to the report about GATUS' rampage at Skyscraper Command.

"What the fuck does it _want?_ " Mike groaned, frowning hard. He was too drunk for this shit. A friggin' psycho COMPANION™? Great. He wondered bitterly if Rick's patrol tonight had failed to nab all those black market tech dealers lurking around the lower levels.

"The sporadic behavior, the lockdown, the hostages - that zero-sum-game type-shit? Sounds like a bug in the defense programming. That part is always the most unstable. Dr. Jones is my hero, be he _still_ hasn't figured that shit out." Heath shrugged, studying the reports on the holoscreen. "Maybe I can whip somethin' up to reverse the damage while y'all charge in guns blazing."

It was a flimsy plan, but it would have to do for now.

Then Eugene managed to raise the entire team on alert and send them to rendezvous with the other precincts. Well - they had managed to reach everyone _but_ Rick and Michonne.

Mike stood glaring at the holoscreen as Eugene tried and failed to raise Rick on his Charger flyer's comms system for a third, unnecessary time. Mike wasn't stupid. The mullet wearing dough boy was stalling. He slid his eyes to Eugene's nervous face as they listened to the line beep indefinitely.

"Why don't you just call Michonne, man?"

Eugene looked like he would rather eat paint chips.

Heath paused his research into GATUS to watch Mike's standoff with Eugene, a stylus pen hanging from his gaping mouth. "Uhhh...her _home_...number?"

"Yeah, Eugene." Mike gritted, his jaw flexing and his fists clenched. "Her _home_ number."

As if on cue, LIZZY chimed in again, saving Eugene a heart attack from the hugely awkward situation he had just narrowly avoided.

" _Incoming call from Lori Grimes. Shall I put her through?"_

"Sure. _I'll_ take it. In the arms closet. I gotta suit up and meet the rest of the guys. _Thanks,_ LIZZY." Mike spoke up firmly and confidently as he began to back out of the bullpen.

" _Okaaaay…? Standby."_

Eugene and Heath exchanged looks at the somewhat chilly tone underlying the other man's polite choice of words. Mike flipped them both off and turned on his heel, now jogging around the corner and down the dark tunnels towards the arms lockup to get his weapons - and take a personal call.

Inside the arms lockup, Mike waited patiently for Lori Grimes' pale, plain face to appear on the holoscreen projected before him. He pulled on his black henley, tucking his dog tags down inside as she finally appeared. She frowned at him through the screen.

"Mike? Um...sorry, I was looking for Rick."

Mike smiled politely at her, opening a locker to grab a shooter and some ammo. "I know. He's not here. We're being called out on an APB. All precincts need to report to - "

"The Skyscraper, I know." She cut him off, sounding worried and annoyed at the same time. "I just got home from work but it's all over the news on the holoscreen. What the hell's goin' on, Mike? Where's Rick?"

Mike smirked, coldly. "Oh, don't you know?"

Lori's frown deepened. She never much liked Mike. Aside from the fact that he was shacked up with Michonne - whom Lori couldn't stand on a _good_ day - he was too cocky, and she always got the feeling that he didn't respect her husband very much. That always rubbed her the wrong way. Rick was a pain in the ass for her, but he was a good guy, deep down. There was no way this arrogant kid knew more than Rick Grimes out there on the battlefield.

And his tone right now wasn't helping her warm up to him. Not one little bit. "What are you talkin' about? Know what?"

"About what's happening up there." Mike shrugged nonchalantly, holstering his weapon and reaching for another one. He hit her with his most convincing look of innocent curiosity. "I thought you worked at Skyscraper Command, Mrs. Grimes?"

Lori blinked, taken aback, but then decided to move on to why she was calling. She didn't have time to entertain him. "I do, but I'm just a dispatch officer, Mike. My shift is over. I don't get to look inside Pandora's Box, despite what y'all think of me down there at the B-DP."

"Ohhh, we think the world of you, Mrs. G." He grinned, sliding on his HV bullet-proof vest and zipping it up with a flourish.

"Where is Rick? Is he with you? _God_ , is he up at the Skyscraper already? I can't reach him."

"Well, it's funny you should mention it, because we can't reach him, either."

Lori's heart started to race as she studied the look on Mike's face. What the hell was he trying to say to her? If Rick was dead or injured, they'd have told her right away. So why was he being so weird and cryptic? And where the fuck was Mike's girlfriend?

"Where's _Michonne_ , Mike?"

A heavy, oppressive feeling of dread began to crush Lori into their threadbare couch as Mike looked down and sighed hard.

"I hate to do this do you, Lori. But I think there's somethin' you should know."

* * *

A few minutes later, Mike was gone. He left without a word to meet up with the others.

Eugene studied the architectural makeup of the Skyscraper, trying to piece together a plan for getting their team inside and past GATUS' defenses. The mainframe was at the bottom of the tower, where GATUS was keeping the hostages. Smart. Keeping them there meant keeping himself safe. But maybe, if they could reach the hostages, they could use a distraction to manually shut down the mainframe.

They'd need a _big_ distraction.

Heath was working on building a debugging program to upload through the watchtower. The watchtower ran on an independent server that GATUS couldn't reach from his end at Command. But someone in one of the flyers could upload the debugger and send it through cloaked. They'd need all the other COMPANION's working on decoding the firewalls. Maybe GATUS would be too busy fighting them and all the peacekeepers to notice the debugger being planted under his nose. Maybe.

The two men went about their work, jotting down notes on the holoscreen and bouncing ideas off each other as they did so. They were both trying really hard not to acknowledge the tiny domestic bomb that had just gone off in their midst.

And then LIZZY, that monster, interrupted their flow again.

" _Er...I've located and raised Rick. He's still at Michonne's, apparently. Patching them...through?"_

Heath and Eugene looked up at each other in an instant panic, then back at the door where Mike had disappeared just a few minutes earlier.

Just as they'd both feared, Rick _and_ Michonne appeared on the holoscreen. In Michonne's bedroom, having jumped up from her bed where they were lying together. Naked as jaybirds. Heath disappeared from view, backing up to hide in a corner of the room with his computer.

When _that_ awkwardness was over, Heath came back to Eugene's side.

"You think I shoulda told him about Mike and Lori back there?" Eugene asked, sweat collecting on his brow.

Heath shook his head. "Man, do yourself a favor and take Rick's advice. Stay out of it."

"Agreed. I do _not_ want Rick makin' my throat into jerky. Not to mention gettin' my head sliced off by Michonne." Eugene shuddered. "No sir. I'd rather take _The Grid._ "

Heath cleared his throat. "Okay. I think we got a plan. Let's raise the APB."

Eugene snapped his fingers and LIZZY opened an ALL CALL on the citywide comm channel.

Every flyer and precinct intercom system rang out with his twangy southern drawl as he gave them the lowdown on what was what.

" _ **Alright, circus freaks and geeks, we're movin' in hot and heavy on Skyscraper Command Tower in t-minus ten minutes starting...now."**_

He read from the list of unit assignments running like a ticker across the holoscreen as the 3-D blueprint of the tower pinpointed the corresponding locations.

" _ **Levels two through six, you're on flyer patrol. Seven through twelve, you're goin' ground up. GATUS has tower junctions four, eight, and three locked down with cyborgs. He is extremely armed, calculated, and dangerous."**_

….and all around Safe Zone city, peacekeepers suited up and moved out as Eugene's voice guided them through their orders…

* * *

"Two weeks pay says Rick and Michonne are out there fuckin'. Right now." Shane piped up, chewing on his toothpick.

Abraham, Shane, Glenn, Maggie, 'Drea, Sasha and Rosita lumbered out of Rovia's and spread out to their respective vehicles. Daryl took up the rear, headed for his souped up motorcycle parked in an alley behind the bar.

"That ain't no bet worth winnin'." Daryl rasped, shrugging into his jacket and slinging his bow over his shoulder. "They been eye-fuckin' each other all night. Hell, for _three years_. We all knew where that one was gonna up."

"Yeah, no thanks to Shane's big mouth." Rosita rolled her eyes.

"Damn it, 'Drea!" Shane complained, frowning down at his girlfriend while giving her little ass a squeeze. "You told her what I said?"

"It slipped! Funny how that works. Let's go to work, big mouth." She kissed him, stealing his flight gloves so she could pilot. "I'm ready to blow some shit up!"

"Now we're talking." Rosita gave Andrea a high five, feeling equally amped. Fuckin' cyborgs. She couldn't wait to grease every single one of those tin can motherfuckers.

Abe lit a cigar as he powered up his armored flyer and flipped on the holoscreen. Eugene was giving his APB on the situation while everyone loaded up. Sasha hopped up from the ground to give her big boo a smooch through his pilot's side window.

"Stay in one piece, you hear me?" She winked at him as she backed up to join Maggie and Rosita in their prowler. Maggie would drop Sasha off with Tyreese so she could join him in the sky patrol.

"Just keep that cute little ass of yours ready for a good lickin' later, cupcake." Abraham rumbled with his Hummer flyer engine, wiggling his fluffy handlebars at her.

Of course he hadn't forgotten Maggie's naughty little rant earlier.

Sasha laughed and flipped him the peace sign, love all up in her sparkling eyes. Eugene was still giving out orders as he watched her jog away to catch up with Maggie. Glenn mouthed 'I love you' to his girl, and she did the same in return before wrapping an arm around Sasha and pulling her toward the big black prowler.

" _ **...Do not engage the mainframe through the cloud, I repeat,**_ _ **do not**_ _**engage through the cloud unless your COMPANION™ goes down. See if you can take GATUS' defense posts out in the sky first..."**_

"Hey LIZZY!" Abe called over Eugene's run on sentences.

" _Yes, love, I know. Which track shall it be?"_

LIZZY answered as they began their ascent.

"Put on the Chambers Brothers, for me, darlin'..." Abraham crooned appreciatively as Glenn rolled his eyes and strapped himself into the passenger seat. "And crank 'em allll the way up!"

LIZZY complied. Seconds later the surround sound in Abe's flyer _BOOMED_ with the opening drum and guitar crescendo of one of his favorite road songs, 'Time Has Come Today', a rock and roll classic.

 _ **TIME HAS COME TODAY!**_

 _ **MY LOVE HAS FLOWN AWAY!**_

 _ **MY TEARS HAVE COME AND GONE!**_

 _ **OH LORD, I'VE GOT TO RUN!**_

Glenn winced as Eugene's voice was drowned out by the roaring music, and Abe gunned it - zipping past all the other slow pokes to the levels above.

"I hate you!" The young Korean called resentfully, holding on to the dash for dear life.

"Life's too short for that amigo!" Abe returned, grinning. "Let's go kick some cyborg ass!"

He turned the music up louder.

 _ **I'VE BEEN LOVED AND PUT ASIDE! (TIME!)**_

 _ **I'VE BEEN CRUSHED BY A TUMBLING TIDE! (TIME!)**_

 _ **AND MY SOUL HAS BEEN PSYCHEDELICIZED! (TIME!)**_

* * *

While Rick and Michonne were dancing around the Big Three in an elevator halfway across the city…

Jax, T-Dog, and Buck from Tyreese's M-DP unit on level six barely listened to Eugene as they polished and loaded their gigantic, brand new HV-machine guns.

" _Oh my goood,_ I can't wait to shoot my load, motherfuckers!" Moaned Jax, a short, sexy, tough as nails lesbian with a cybernetic spine and an ass so tight you could use it to smash rocks. She pumped her gun with her rippled biceps like she was splooging all over her teammates. "I'm gonna fuckin' _lose it_ on those cyborg pussies!"

"Damn, Jax, do you _have_ to be such a dude all the time?" Buck, a gap-toothed good old boy from the area that used to be Texas rolled his eyes at her. He tossed on his old army helmet and stuck a cigarette in the strap wrapped around it.

"You know, your mother asked me the same thing while I was fuckin' her last night, bitch." Jax tossed back coolly, to the locker room's immense amusement, hoisting her weapon onto her muscular shoulder. "You gonna keep your balls on out there, or what?"

"Yeah you know it." Buck moved on, grinning like a gap-toothed clown. "I am _COMIN'_ for Captain Snow's kill count!"

"No one gets _close_ to her kill count, fuckboy, forget it." T-Dog scoffed, strapping on his boots and grabbing his own souped up shooters.

"Enough bullshit talk, let's move out!" Tyrese barked as they left their precinct and headed for their flyers.

Heath cut in over the ALL CALL to add his own orders.

" _ **We'll need**_ _ **all**_ _**precinct COMPANIONS™ linked up and decoding firewalls ASAP, guys. This one will take every single pair of eyes and ears on the ground, in the sky, and in the cloud. Hold onto your butts. And good luck. B-PD out."**_

Heath gave a salute to the holoscreens broadcasting their message through everyone's flyers and then Abraham's face appeared over the ALL CALL.

" _ **This one's for Alexandria, direct from The Family! Fuck you, GATUS! Your time has come, boy!"**_

The music swelled across Safe Zone City from the flyers zooming through the night air. Peacekeepers of all makes and sizes flew, drove, and marched out to their fate.

An epic clash of man and machine was about to begin. With much more devastating consequences than any of them ever imagined. All in a matter of precious little time.

 _ **TIME HAS COME TODAY! (TIME!)**_

 _ **YOUNG HEARTS CAN GO THEIR WAY! (TIME!)**_

 _ **NOW THE TIME HAS COME!**_

 _ **THERE AIN'T NO PLACE TO RUN!**_

 _ **MIGHT GET BURNED UP BY THE SUN!**_

 _ **BUT I'LL HAVE MY FUN!**_

… _ **TIME!**_

 _To be continued..._

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **This was only part one, part two is coming really soon...**

 **There is** **more** **action,** **more** **sci-fi goodies, and** **waaay more** **plot coming.**

 **Next up:**

 **Rick and Michonne face GATUS.**

 **Michonne finds her moment...and then the fall.**

 **Smith One makes a threat that Rick cannot ignore.**

 **Monroe steps so far over the line that she pushes Rick over the edge, and Dallas into a tight spot.**

 **Almost there, guys. Brace yourselves. I can only promise that it will be get** _ **so, so, soo**_ **much better!**

 **As always, you'll find visuals and soundtrack on my tumblr (kendrawriter).**

 **THANK YOU FOR YOUR** **AMAZING** **REVIEWS AND FOR READING THIS CRAZINESS.**

 **-Kendra**


	4. the fall, part ii

**WARNING:**

 **Not safe for feels.**

 **The time has come. But I promise - Richonne's love story is** **not** **over.**

* * *

 _Written to the musical score of…_

'Don't Let Go', Steven Price (Gravity)

* * *

 _ **[Rebooting]**_

…

 _ **File Code: GATUS...**_

 _ **Status..**_

 _ **Skyscraper Command Tower..**_

…

" _ArrrgggaaaAAAHH!_ _ **GODDAMN IT**_ _, DOC!_ "

"I know, Abe! We're almost there! Don't be a pussy, Buck, _hold him still,_ please!"

"I'm tryin', Doc, I'm _tryin'_ \- he's strong as shit for a one-armed freak!"

"Your mama, you gap-toothed son-of-a- _ **FUCK ME!**_ _Arrrghhhhuhhh…!_ " Abe's blood spurt and he jerked loose from Buck, thrashing around, knocking the M-DP sergeant's helmet off.

Next to him, almost catatonic with concern, Sasha silently grabbed hold of him, tears falling like waterfalls from her eyes. She was trying to be strong and hold it all in as she held on tight to Abraham's meaty, bloody - and now only - hand. But it was hard. She wanted to scream with him.

"That is some gross shit, man…" Jax intoned, pausing her defensive shooting from her sniper position in the back of the big flyer. All she smelled was blood and high-velocity gunsmoke these last three hours in the wee morning. Her stomach lurched. She tried not to think about T-Dog _or_ the bloodfest behind her as she concentrated again on trying to eviscerate any remaining cyborg fuckers she spotted in the mele below.

"Sasha, could you please put something in his mouth?" M-DP Dr. Denise Cloyd hastily pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose as she worked with her laser scalpel, smearing her chin with Abraham's blood. She was trying to cauterize the torn flesh of what was left of his mangled right arm before he went into hypovolemic shock. But the large, traumatized man was thrashing about under the white glare of the flyer's operating light as they zoomed through the air around Skyscraper tower, evading fire.

Denise tried to hold it together herself. They had lost their COMPANION™ JORDI, and LIZZY, as well as four other COMPANIONS™ from other precincts in the fight.

GATUS took them offline in the blink of an eye as retaliation for the debugger. Of course - _of course_ \- he'd discovered it.

Sasha hastily unbuckled Abraham's thick leather belt, pulling it out of his pants loops and putting it into his mouth securely. He bit down onto it, his face wet with tears, his eyes shimmering pools of misery.

Abe huffed and puffed and spit and gritted his teeth around the belt as Dr. Cloyd burned off certain unsavable parts of what was left of his arm, cauterizing as she went. This would be a lot less barbaric if she had JORDI. She'd only ever done two amputations in her career. They were both due to walker bite, and they were both with JORDI's help. Denise was tough, and a good doctor, but she had never had to operate on her own, let alone manually. Chopping off the remains of a mangled limb was not as easy as JORDI made it look.

"Hurts like a _son of a bitch_ , baby…!" He moaned around the belt, tears falling down his cheeks and into his bushy red handlebars.

"Doc, ain't that pain stuff kicked in yet?" Buck huffed, sweat clinging to his brow, dripping from his sandy blond buzz cut.

"He's too worked, up - you need to _breathe_ , Abe. Bite and breathe, come on, almost there…"

"It's okay, baby." Sasha finally was able to whisper, even mustering a tender smile at her struggling boyfriend. She could see that he was deathly close to passing out. Her body was numb with fear. "I got you. You hear me, Abraham? _Stay with me._ Please."

Denise finally finished and almost as if on cue, whatever it was she'd shot him up with started working. The pain that had tortured virtually his entire body from his nonexistent elbow outward began to recede. Slowly. Abe's large, tense muscles began to relax, and his exhausted mouth dropped the belt as Denise started to clean him up. This was temporary, there was a lot of damage and a lot of work still to be done. But he wasn't going to die of bloodloss and shock thanks to her quick work.

Before he went lights out, he managed to reach up with his good arm. Sasha's trembling hand still in his, he gave her a pinch on the chin.

"Cute as a button…" he murmured, his eyes slipping closed and his consciousness rising to outer space.

"Dork." Buck scoffed, standing up straight from his hard work holding Abe down, wiping his brow.

Sasha simply stared at Abe, kissing and holding his remaining hand. He was _her_ dork. And he was alive.

Unlike Glenn. And so many others. She turned her head to the front of the flyer now, where Rick and Michonne were arguing heatedly in hushed voices while Tyreese flew.

They all did, save Jax and Abe.

Deep shit. They were still in it.

Tyreese tried to stem his emotions over his friends T-Dog and Glenn and just concentrate on flying his ass off. Rick stood next to the navigator's chair over Ty's shoulder. He was inching closer and closer to Michonne, glaring at her.

" _No,_ Michonne." Rick's voice was low and forbidding. "We stick together. Come up with a new plan."

Michonne ignored his tone. She knew he was heartbroken over Glenn, and for Maggie.

So was she. But she also knew that she was right. She took a short breath, gathering her patience.

"There is no other plan, Rick. GATUS is making shish kabobs out of us. There won't be any of us left by the time that bomb goes off. I have to do this _alone_."

"Maybe it's not even a bomb." Rick insisted, shifting on his feet, getting in her personal space. "Daryl never got a clear visual. Ever think o'that? All that bullshit GATUS spewed at us earlier, you don't think he's capable of bluffin'?"

He was more than heartbroken. He was _scared_ , he was furious, and he was desperate to keep her _here_ , by his side. Abraham's screams and Glenn's absence were weighing him down. If they went in, they would go in together, or not at all. He _had_ to sway her. There _had_ to be another way.

"You _think_ it's bullshit, Rick, but maybe it's _not_." Michonne glared right back, holding onto the overhead utility hanger with one hand as they flew around in a never ending loop of evasive maneuvering. "Look. This a _chance_. Maybe our only one. You can be my eyes and ears, and I could use a distraction. But there is _no way_ we're getting past GATUS if we charge in there blind. He'll kill us all, _and_ those hostages, and you know it. I don't think he was bluffing about _that_."

"Michonne, goin' in by yourself is _suicide!_ " He growled, getting further into her face. "Besides, the fuckin' tower is gonna collapse before you make it there - and what are you gonna do about that tank?"

"No, charging in blind and angry is suicide! There are still hostages down there and they're gonna _die_ , Rick! We gotta get to that mainframe. You can't move as fast as I can, and you going in guns blazing will give us away. _I can do this._ "

"Hey! _We'll back her up._ We still got what's left of our people, and the guys from Sky Patrol supposed to be on their way. If they got their radios up, we can try to reach 'em." Ty offered in a steely, deep voice, wishing he could check the twenty of their remaining team members and allies on the now inoperational holoscreen. He was on Michonne's side - it was their only hope of stopping the damn thing, but he sure as shit wasn't gonna lose her, too. "They're still out there. And you still got us, Rick."

"That's right, boss, we'll cover Snow Cap for ya! Ride or die, _fuck yeah!_ " Buck drummed his helmet with his fist and Jax hollered with him from the back, shooting like a maniac.

"We got one shot, boss." Ty added, punching it to narrowly escape colliding with an enemy flyer, manned by a cyborg. Jax took it down as he maneuvered above it. "We gotta do what we gotta do, now."

"I'll get on a gun." Sasha said determinedly, kissing Abe's hand and going to join Jax on opposite sides in the back to man a shooter. She was sick of this shit. It was time to rip GATUS' innards from that fuckin' mainfraim. And Michonne was just the assassin to do it. "We'll cover you, Michonne."

Rick's leg was bouncing and Michonne could see his jaw flexing against his thin wisps of salt and pepper facial hair. He ignored Sasha and the others, continuing to stare her down, still incredibly torn. She was right, but this felt _wrong_. He wanted to spill his guts - tell her how Glenn's death made Rick deathly afraid of losing her right along with him. The fear had been creeping into his bloodstream since they started talking to GATUS in his now wrecked flyer. And now it was running ice cold through his veins.

They had only managed one night together, but already their partnership had changed. Michonne wasn't just his right hand, or just a formidable fighter who could take care of herself anymore.

He was _so in love_ with her.

Michonne knew that stiff twitch in his leg well. She could see his veins straining with tension in his pale forearms. He was not happy. He looked like he was contemplating pulling rank. But she wasn't going to let him. They didn't have the time to argue.

Gritting his teeth, Rick's eyes met Michonne's. To her surprise, he nodded. "Okay. We'll cover you."

It was a quiet, almost defeated signoff that nonetheless filled Michonne with relief. He knew she was right. He loved her enough to let her try to save them all. She could if she did this right. She could only do that if she was free from worrying about the safety and wellbeing of the others. They could still do this together if they worked from different ends. With Rick and the others backing her up, she could focus on a singular mission, execute it efficiently, and help them take GATUS down.

Boldly, in front of everyone, Michonne leaned against him, lifting her hands to his face to stroke his beard. "Thank you."

She kissed him, her pillow-soft brown lips latching onto his hot pink ones.

Rick immediately closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around her, hooking her around the waist under her sword. He kissed her back, _fiercely_. There was no time to think about how it looked.

Michonne felt his shoulders folding over as he gripped her belt hard with his hands. She could feel the concern radiating through his body. She hugged him close, reveling in his strength, folding herself right along with him.

"Be careful, Michonne." Rick whispered against her lips.

He wanted badly to tell her he loved her again. To hear her say it. Instead he just held her close.

"You _know_ I will."

"I hate to break this awkwards hit up, but we got company!" Sasha bellowed from the back.

They were side-swiped by long range, heavy artillery from that goddamned tank as two more cyborg-manned flyers appeared to box them in. Ty was doing his best, but it too was a learning machine.

Rick and Michonne were thrust apart. They exchanged looks. _Later_ , his eyes said. When they got out of this, he was going to take her home. He was going to kiss every single inch of her. And he was going to keep her there in bed for as many days as he could get away with. Until she finally said those words he longed to hear cross her heart-shaped lips. They had lost too many tonight. He was going to make their time (together, finally) on this scorched earth _count_.

But right now, they were in trouble. Rick pulled his radio out of his back pocket as he jumped into the navigator's seat next to Tyreese to help him pilot.

They had lost LIZZY and their link to headquarters, so they were flying "blind". Their only link to their team members were old fashioned hand held radios Rick the luddite insisted every unit keep in their flyers.

"Baby, if we're gonna do this, let's do it _now_." Michonne urged him, pulling on her leather biker gloves as everyone else scrambled to take positions.

Rick nodded, clenching his jaw as he strapped himself in and tossed her the radio. "Roger that. But I'm goin' on the record as officially _against_ this shit."

"Noted, boss! _Incomin'!_ " Ty barked.

Tyreese and Rick wheeled the ass of the flyer around hard, doubling back to escape the hail of heavy HV torpedo bullets flying at them rapid fire.

Michonne steadied herself on her feet, grabbing hold of Abe's surgical table. "Flyer One-Zebra checking in, anyone copy? This is Michonne, is anyone out there, over?"

"'CHONNE?!" Shane's elated voice sounded out as they rumbled and tumbled. "Copy the fuck outta that! _Goddamn_ girl, I'm happy as hell to hear your voice, over!"

"Same here!" Michonne grinned at Rick as the doc strapped herself in safely next to Abraham and Buck climbed up top to man the gun on the roof. "Is 'Drea with you? Maggie, Daryl, you guys out there? I think I have a plan, over."

"Michonne, it's Maggie and Rosita." Maggie's voice sounded raw with fresh pain, but held together by sheer strength of will, fortified by steely determination. Everyone on the flyer rejoiced silently. "We copy. We're headed north on sky bridge eight - right back up top." Her twangy drawl crackled across the radio. "Mike and Daryl are behind me, over."

"You have no idea how glad I am to hear that, guys, over." Michonne answered as she moved over to the side door of the flyer, preparing to open it. They still had their holoshields up, the only thing Sasha had managed to get back online after GATUS took out their COMPANIONS.

But that had given Michonne a plan.

Rick and Tyreese exchanged looks of hard resolve. They were gonna make it. They still had their Family, even though they had lost some. Rick pushed his worry deep down into his gut. Ty was right. They had to do what they had to do, now. God help them.

"Yeah, and 'Drea's right here next to me-!" Shane added before Andrea herself interrupted.

"I'm ready to finish this fuckin' thing. What's the plan, over?"

Suddenly heavy fire came from out of nowhere, taking out both the cyborg flyers.

"You got Starbuck and Bishop on your tail, Tyreese, over." Starbuck and her older sister Bishop declared - the source of the rescue fire. They were from Skyscraper Patrol. Brilliant pilots. And total rebels. They were supposed to be in the bunker with the rest of Monroe's hand picked protective force.

"Sorry we're late. We had to wait 'til mom and dad went to sleep, over." Bishop drawled sarcastically.

"Just in time, my love." In the back, Jax smirked at the sound of Bishop's confident voice.

And then:

" _Hailing Captain Grimes? Oh, Captain Snow?_ _ **Are you theeere?**_ "

GATUS' cold voice interrupted their happy reunion, taunting them as he hacked into their ALL CALL system without so much as a lick of effort.

Rick felt his guts twisting and turning as he tried to concentrate on navigating. But the sound of that maniac computer program's voice chilled him to the bone. And infuriated him.

Michonne gritted her teeth. She braced herself, wanting to look at Rick - see his eyes again before they answered. Everyone had gone silent. This wasn't over yet.

"Yeah." Rick uttered, barely able to contain the ferocious anger in his low growl. "We're here."

"What is it, GATUS?" Michonne uttered, steeling herself.

GATUS chuckled softly.

" _I admit, I am surprised. Pleasantly surprised. You know that continuing to attempt assaults on me guarantees your destruction, and yet you persist._ _ **Curious.**_ "

"Come on, GATUS, don't you ' _see allll'_?" Rick drawled antagonistically, a cold grin spreading on his lips. "I thought you studied up on me? I don't give up easy."

" _No indeed. Shall we make this interesting?"_

GATUS responded with equal amounts patience and predatory confidence coating his computerized voice.

A cold rush went straight through Michonne's body as she stared down at the tank trying to annihilate them from below.

Tyreese almost lost control as they got hit again.

"Our shields ain't made for this shit, man!" Jax spat, trying to somehow take out the tank. "What the fuck do you want, Jeeves?"

GATUS ignored the slight, growling imperially:

" _You now have ten minutes, twenty-two seconds before the transcendence, Captain. And this time, there is no stopping it. It would behoove you and what is left of your crew to use this interval to escape the blast zone._ _ **Save yourselves.**_ "

Rick's hands gripped the stick shift between his legs and he glared at the multiple firefights happening around the tower. He had to fight with all his might not to follow that advice.

The tank was below, making it damned near impossible for anyone to get close.

GATUS continued maniacally:

" _Even now, the clock steadfastly moves on, as the last breaths of a dying man, it draws closer and closer to the end. Do you hear it? Tick, tock...tick, tock..._ _ **tick, tock Captain.**_ "

But Rick knew they couldn't run. They couldn't lose those hostages.

Michonne was right. They needed to get this done. _Now._ The only way to do that would be to throw their full support behind her; she was more than capable. They could get her into that mainframe room. Together.

"I'll tell you what, GATUS…" Rick drawled heatedly, ignoring the maniacal singing voice's threats. "We'll think about it." He reached over and manually switched off the ALL CALL.

GATUS could come back at any time, but Rick had a hunch he was an observer of the custom of hostage negotiating. He was a jumble of crazy, unleashed wires, but he was nothing if not thorough.

He pulled the mic out from the radio transmitter in Ty's dashboard as they finally saw Starbuck's Skyscraper flyer returning from taking down two more enemies.

"Family? Starbuck, Bishop? What do y'all say we make one last stand? Get those hostages out and blow GATUS to kingdom come, over?"

Behind him, Michonne gazed at his profile with nothing but love in her eyes.

Starbuck spoke up first. "We're in. It's an ugly ass tower anyway."

Then one by one, the remaining family all agreed enthusiastically. Trapping his fear into a steel cage, Rick relayed Michonne's plan to the group while she prepared herself to go in.

Tyreese got them headed upward, to the very top of the tower.

* * *

 _ **[Reauthorizing Playback]**_

…

 _ **Interview Log: Capt R. Grimes, B-DP...**_

 _ **Skyscraper Command Encrypted Archive..**_

 _ **File Code: GATUS...**_

…

 **11:12**

Rick was staring at Michonne's holographic head and shoulders, turning this way and that.

He had stopped speaking.

He was trapped again. Reliving their last moment. That smile. Those words on her beautiful lips.

He almost couldn't believe it. He he couldn't believe Michonne wasn't just in another holding cell somewhere down here, reluctantly giving answers just like he was. He wanted so badly for it to be real - for him to walk out of here and find her waiting for him. Ready to go. But he _couldn't_ see her again, or touch her, or kiss her, or tell her he loved her without regret or fear, _ever again_.

All that was left of Michonne to the outside world was her sword. Rick's grief.

And a hollow likeness, frozen in time.

Tears welled in his eyes as he now glared at it. His vision blurred, obscuring her digitized face.

The echoes of the underground coupled with the quiet hum of the holoscreen filled the air as Dallas watched Rick disappear into himself. She was getting concerned again.

He had been doing fine up until they started talking about why on earth his partner would jump into the tower and try to take that tank down on her own. Dallas had been there when Monroe commissioned it. It was no fuckin' joke. It almost tore Abraham Ford limb from limb. She knew Michonne was a woman who put others before herself time and again, but she was also shrewd as hell and she didn't cozy up to bullshit. Captain Snow wouldn't leave those hostages, but as a report she needed to officially file in the archives, this looked like a no-win situation to Dallas. Frankly, the decision went over her head a bit.

From the hard tension in his rugged jaw alone, it was possibly going over Rick's as well. Or maybe not. Out of the entire Family, Rick seemed to know Michonne the most intimately. Judging by how effective their partnership was, and how devastated Rick was now, they _must've_ been close. He knew Michonne's mind. Maybe he _could_ explain what Snow was thinking when she'd essentially jumped to her death.

Dallas needed him to try a little harder. Keep it together for just a little longer.

"Captain." She spoke, drawing his eyes from the holoscreen's data imagery. "Why did she go in alone? Come on. I need you to help me understand, here."

Rick sniffed and tore his watery eyes away from the holoscreen, pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off a sudden headache.

"How much longer am I in here?" He rasped, slowly raising his eyes to meet hers again.

She sighed. "Not much. Monroe and Smith One are on their way. Once they sign off, you're clear."

She knew that wasn't exactly good news. They weren't coming to thank him for his service. And she knew this wasn't gonna go down well. She only hoped that her presence, and her advocacy, would somehow be a balm for the nerves and egos of all parties involved. Sometimes Monroe listened to her, but Rick was a ticking time bomb that had already gone off once and Smith wasn't really all that human.

Rick squinted at her, anger threatening to resurface, thawing the cold as his headache got worse.

"I'd rather skip the pleasantries, if it's alright with you…"

Dallas leaned forward in her chair and folded her hands across the table. "Rick. You know that's out of my hands. Right now, it's just you and me. I'm on your side; you have my word on that."

He studied her for a moment, his anger easing off as he wondered if that was really true. Michonne trusted her. Maybe he could too. Maybe. His leg bouncing against the chair, Rick cleared his throat hoarsely.

"You weren't out there." He gestured impatiently with his bloody hand. His knuckles wrapped against the steel table as it dropped down again. He didn't feel it. "You have no idea how tight a grip GATUS had on the situation."

"Help me get a clue, then."

Rick scoffed. When he continued, bitterness coated his throaty drawl. "He could've taken us out like _that_." He snapped his fingers. "He was that close. But it wasn't about that."

"Explain."

" _He was toyin' with us._ " Rick growled defiantly against her dubious frown. "Whatever Monroe did, she fucked up _big time_." If he had learned one thing that morning, one of the hardest mornings of his life by the end, it was that machines could not be trusted. "Walker tech isn't the answer, Dallas. It never was. GATUS proved that to us over and over again."

"This isn't about walker tech, Rick. I need a _complete_ report. Why did you give Captain Snow the go ahead to go in alone? What am I missing?"

His chest deflated. She didn't get it. Maybe she really had been drinking the water at Command for too long. Rick looked down at his hands, rolling his wedding band around on his ring finger, scraping the blemished gold against the dried blood.

"Michonne figured out pretty quickly that GATUS didn't want anythin' but a buncha witnesses." His voice was barely above a whisper and he had to swallow again thickly to get through it. "That's all we were to him. Like he was sendin' some sort of message."

"To whom?"

" _To all of us._ " Rick growled passionately, looking as though his grip on the here and now was slipping again. "The world. Humans especially. But he wasn't committin' suicide. Michonne _knew_ it. She knew it, as soon as he was done talkin' to us the first time."

"She knew _what_ , Captain?" Dallas pressed, on the edge of her seat.

Rick finally focused on her again, his eyes clearing. He spoke next in a heated rush through gritted teeth.

"...if he blew that buildin'? He'd be unleashin' his consciousness - whatever it was that Monroe woke up when she plugged him in - into unchartered netspace. We'd never be able to follow him after that. He'd escape justice for good. Forever."

He growled his next words at her as though her life depended on hearing them. She listened carefully.

"And there's no tellin _when_ he'd surface again, or _what_ form he'd take, or _how much damage he'd cause next._ Those hostages were just a way to get us all out there. To watch him make his grand fuckin' stand. The EMP was _the only way_ to stop him."

Dallas frowned. The COMPANION™ program had a bug in it. That had to be confirmed, as it was the only possible conclusion. It had either been hacked into or it was defective. Dallas' job was to get to the bottom of things and find out which it was. GATUS' actions were inexplicable at best. And yet Rick was sitting here telling her that GATUS was a regular Keyser Soze. How could a machine have a motive? A philosophy? A maniacal zeal? Was that really what Monroe had signed up for? Dallas couldn't believe the paranoid mayor would go so far as to willfully commission Dr. Morgan Jones - the man behind the last two decades of walker tech innovations - to create a monster. It _had_ to be a bug or some outside force.

Furthermore, Rick was suggesting that the explosion had _not_ disconnected GATUS from the cloud or taken him offline for good. That was an outcome that she was finding very hard to entertain. Walker tech could only go so far. That's what all the science said. Even the artificial animals, plants and insects they manufactured to keep the planet going had their orders and carried them out systematically, without fail.

The public may've been in the midst of a hybrid craze these days, but Dallas doubted it could stomach anything beyond companionship and steadfast defense that was tethered to the the Three Laws. She sat trying to imagine herself filing what Rick was suggesting with Skyscraper Command, or any of The Powers That Be, or giving it to the _press_ for Christ's sake. Deep down, the young security chief feared it.

And if _she_ feared it, she could only imagine Monroe's reaction.

She'd be a target, not a respected woman of the law. Smith One showed loyalty only to what he considered the sharp edge of the law. Dallas wanted to scoff. Rick was out of his damned mind.

He saw the wheels turning in her head. Saw her trying to gather her patience and come at him from a different angle until she got the answers she wanted. Or... _Monroe_ wanted. He could guess what kind of political pressure Chief Watson was under to make this report of hers nice and tidy. Believable. Safe.

"Let me ask _you_ a question, Chief." Rick tilted his head at her. "You ever find any trace of whatever it was that corrupted GATUS in the first place? You got any leads on unauthorized breaches of the mainframe firewalls before this happened?"

The silence in the room was heavy as Dallas paused, blinking and letting her eyes fall away from his.

Rick clenched his jaw, but simply continued as though she'd answered him. "I didn't think so."

"So what are you getting at, Captain?" She challenged, raising an eyebrow.

"You asked me why Michonne went in alone." He sighed, crossing his arms to hold himself together. "I believe it's because she could see the only way to stop him was to blow the entire vicinity with an EMP powerful enough to take him offline. Stun him. Cut him off mid-program. No window for escape. Just a dead connection."

Dallas sat thinking hard. She tried to put herself in Michonne Snow's tactical mind. The tank, the last of the cyborg fleet, the steady termination of peacekeepers from precincts all over the city...and those hostages, at the edge of certain death, counting on her.

"You think the bomb was a cover. An escape hatch. But Michonne tried to outsmart GATUS by using the rest of you to create a diversion…"

Rick nodded.

Dallas leaned forward again, her chest pressing into the edge of the table, now. He couldn't stop there. She needed more. She needed to really understand. They were running out of time. Like always.

"Talk me through it. When did she realize what GATUS was up to? If you want me to listen, and file this in my report, you gotta tell me _everything_ , Rick," she urged.

Her eyes bore into his, and he steeled himself for one more round of raw emotion. He had to do this for Michonne, if nothing else. Actively forcing his leg to stop bouncing against the uncomfortable chair, Rick watched the holoscreen blink and flicker his own memories back at him. His boots slid across the floor loudly as he huffed out a pained breath and hugged himself tighter, balling his fists underneath his arms.

"It was right after we lost Glenn, Tara, and some of the others on the ground." He swallowed thickly, his voice breaking for the upteenth time. Dallas made a mental note to get him some water in a minute. She had to hear this first, though. "My flyer got hit and we went down, but before that - we talked to him. That's when Michonne started piecing things together."

"What did you talk about?"

His eyebrows rose to meet his damp, wavy brown curls. His eyes went unfocused again while he remembered. A small, bemused smirk played at his chapped lips.

Rick leaned back in his seat, finally uncrossing his arms as he gazed at his superior cryptically.

Here went nothing.

"We talked about what he called 'the transcendance', not a bomb. That was her first hunch."

* * *

 **2:51**

Rick tore his eyes away from the dazzling sight of the firefights looming around Skyscraper Command tower, a sinking feeling pulling at his gut.

"Repeat that, LIZZY?" He growled, his blazing blue eyes darting over to Michonne, who was still glaring through the holoscreen at the war zone ahead of them.

LIZZY complied gravely:

" _Affirmative. JORDI has intercepted a signal emanating from the mainframe room, Level B. It is a countdown beacon. Self-destruct in thirty minutes, fifty seconds and counting."_

Her disembodied English accent informed them in no uncertain terms. Rick flew as fast as he could toward the action. They were closing in on the tower.

 _Why so damn long,_ was Rick's immediate thought. _Is he stalling…?_ He had no time to ponder further.

" _Sergeant Ford and the others are on the ground now. Attempting to establish comm link with our scouts, stand by…"_

"LIZZY, raise Heath and Eugene before you go." Michonne shot out as she reached over to grip Rick's straining forearm.

He was tense already and they hadn't even started fighting yet. Not a good sign.

"Like you said, let's come up with a plan. A countdown just means we have to think faster, right?"

"When you're right, you're right…" Rick agreed, trying to swallow down his apprehension for her.

" _Patching you through to B-DP Headquarters…and stand by for Mike and Daryl once I locate them."_

LIZZY announced as Rick spotted Tyreese's flyer and headed straight for it.

Eugene's flummoxed face appeared on the bottom left of the holoscreen, back at headquarters.

"What can we do ya for, boss?"

"Gimme a report, Eugene, and hurry up with that debugger." Rick demanded, engaging his shields and nodding for Michonne to get ready to take on fire as they broke into the melee.

Eugene nodded, his mullet stone still as usual. Heath moved around between computer banks in the background.

"Captain Snow should almost have it. But the rest ain't goin' so hot out there, boss." He reluctantly delivered, accessing what information was available to him from his team of hacking COMPANIONS.

The flyer shuddered as Rick avoided being hit by long-range fire from some cyborg scout below.

Michonne pushed her laptop back into its cubby hole so she could activate her shooter scope by bringing up the menu on the holoscreen. The scope came down and Rick's twin shooters on the back sides of the trunk came out of their compartments, engaged and ready to fire.

"We've lost visuals and life support in half the tower. The ground operation is stuck on garage Level B - GATUS has control of a military-grade self-operated tank, sir. It's nasty."

"Shit." Rick gritted as Michonne concentrated on defending their flyer. Eugene kept on with his bullet, the news getting more and more grim as he went. So much for this being a piece of cake.

"Daryl was tryin' to get a visual on the hostages, but he can't see shit with those cyborgs crawlin' all over the place. Then we lost him, too. We ain't heard from Mike since he lit outta here…"

"What about the self-destruct?" Rick's partner interrupted, bagging an enemy flyer that was the only thing currently standing between them and the sky bridge where Tyreese was landing to meet up.

"Me and JORDI were workin' on trying to find a way in from where Abe and the others are stuck. GATUS somehow caught onto that."

Eugene continued, shaking his head with his wide brow furrowed in frustration.

"He's got all possible holes plugged tighter than the mayor's asshole, sir. Sentinels everywhere, and that goddamned tank is slicker than pig shit after a storm. We're losin' COMPANIONS left and right. Like I said, it ain't goin' so hot..."

" _Duly fuckin' noted._ What the fuck is takin' so long with that debugger? _Heath?_ "

While Rick grumbled, Michonne got a glimpse of the firepower of the tank miles below through her shooter scope. Eugene was right. It was a terrifyingly efficient behemoth.

Heath approached Eugene's back, his face crowding into the screen. "Sorry boss!"

He pushed his glasses up on his nose and huffed out a breath, gesturing to his twin computer banks in the background.

"Look, this dude's firewalls are hella crazy. I got at least six COMPANIONS on this at a time, but that _and_ four consoles combined still ain't enough to keep up with this shit. The debugger is almost there - you just gotta buy me like ten minutes, man."

"We don't have ten minutes!" His leader gritted testily. He had to dip suddenly, driving the nose of the flyer doward to glide onto the skybridge.

"Okay, five then, sir. Please? We're almost there. _Just keep GATUS occupied._ "

"Roger that, we're on it." Michonne answered for Rick. "Alert me the second you break through. I'm gonna see if I can use the watchtower to bounce the signal. Give us a little cover, maybe…"

"Yes ma'am." Heath nodded dutifully.

"Where the fuck is Skyscraper Patrol?" Rick continued cursing, still riled up. "We need backup!"

Eugene shook his head as Heath went back to his intense work. "Negative on that one. We have not been able to establish any comms link with Command since the APB. They are _deep_ in those bunkers, sir."

"Fuck it, then. We're goin' on a rescue and run." Rick ordered. "That tower can go to hell and GATUS with it for all I care. We have less than thirty minutes to get our people and those hostages _out_ , you read me Eugene? Find me somethin' I can _use_ , goddamn it."

"Yes sir, loud and clear. We won't let you down."

" _Rick - Michonne."_

LIZZY interrupted just as Rick was maneuvering the flyer over the sky bridge, hidden behind another tower adjacent to the Skyscraper.

Rick and Michonne exchanged looks. They did not like the sound of her voice.

" _I've just lost the life signals of Glenn Rhee, Tara Chambler, Theodore 'T-Dog' Douglass, and Father Gabriel Stokes. Deceased. All. Along with Tobin Gladwell. His partner Aaron McCain is in critical condition._

" _He will not last the interval for medical rescue to reach him. He is bleeding out, and surrounded by cyborg sentinels. JORDI is with him now, but he can only do so much from the cloud. Life support is inoperative at junctions three and eight now."_

With each part of LIZZY's report, Michonne's heart grew heavier and heavier in her chest. She could barely make out what the COMPANION program was saying now. Her breathing seemed to stall as she let it sink in that Glenn was gone. Rick tried to concentrate on landing, but his blood ran cold and his hands gripped the wheel so hard he felt them going numb. _Not Tara. Not_ _ **Glenn!**_

" _Abraham, Andrea, Maggie and Rosita are trapped on garage Level B with GATUS' tank. They cannot reach the hostages. I've intercepted a mayday from Abraham. I still cannot establish contact with Mike or Daryl. I am sorry."_

"Tell 'em we're comin' in after 'em." Rick growled. "Landin' now to meet up with Tyreese and Sasha. Keep tryin' Mike and Daryl, we need their eyes and ears damn it. And LIZZY?"

" _Yes, Rick?"_

"You watch that countdown, _and you watch GATUS like a_ _ **hawk.**_ Notify me the _instant_ he makes another move, you got that?"

" _Affirmative."_

* * *

 **3:08**

"What the fuck are we gonna do?" Sasha demanded through her tears as she paced near their flyers on the sky bridge as the battle raged on above them. "Abraham and Maggie and the others are still down there! Trapped with that fuckin' tank!"

"Sasha, the first thing we're gonna do is rescue them, but we _have_ to come up with a plan first. That tank _has_ to be stoppable somehow..." Michonne stood with her arms crossed, trying to quell her own raging emotions, her jaw clenched tight.

"Well, what about that debuggin' shit those nerds at headquarters wouldn't shut up about?" Buck leered, angry and grieving.

Jax and Buck leaned simberly against the flyer as Tyreese stood between Sasha and Rick, holding his big shooter over his shoulder, on the lookout for any enemy fire in case they were spotted. Looking out for any sign of any other peacekeeper scouts in the area. Their comms link was going haywire. All the COMPANIONS were working overtime, both communicating with their teams and coordinating with headquarters to try to take down GATUS.

Now JORDI and Rick informed them they intercepted a self-destruct signal coming from the mainframe room. A room that was full of innocent hostages. A room they could not fuckin' _touch_ because it was surrounded by cyborgs and a huge, fully-armed, fast-learning tank.

Michonne shook her head. "Any minute now."

"Well _that's_ real comforting." Sasha said heatedly under her breath.

"They killed T-Dog, maaaan…" Jax growled, getting anxious to go annihilate something. "I told that motherfucker not to go out there alone!"

"We don't have time for this shit." Rick pulled rank, stepping up to Tyreese. "You and me, we lead the team in to rescue Abraham and the others." He forced eye contact with Ty, who nodded dutifully, his big, broad chest heaving inside his grey henley. "Then me and Michonne are headed up to the watchtower. It's the only place safe enough to send in that debug program once it's finally up and runnin'."

"And then what?" Sasha crossed her arms defiantly after wiping harshly at her tears.

"Settle down, little sis…" Tyreese turned slightly from Rick to calm her with a neutral voice.

Buck scoffed. "She's right, boss number two. What else we got goin' for us? How the fuck are we gonna get those hostages outta there with twenty damn minutes to go?"

"Yo, she got a point, Rick." Jax bounced her leg impatiently in Rick fashion, looking fed up. "No way we take out that fuckin' tank in time. Now way. I don't wanna die that stupid, man."

"We're gonna figure it the fuck out, that's what we're gonna do. _Together._ " Rick growled, tilting his head at them. "Does that satisfy everyone?"

They all paused for a moment too long, taking in what their situation was. It was time to do what they did best - fight their way out of an impossible to win situation. They had followed Rick and Michonne's lead for years, and they had managed to survive. Now what was left of their Family needed help, and those hostages shouldn't have to pay for a fucked up computer program.

"Let's move out, y'all." Tyreese gave Rick a firm nod, turning on his heel to head to his flyer.

Sasha followed him without another word. Buck and Jax went last, and the flyer doors closed behind them. As the large armored Hummer flyer rose on its thrusters into the air, Rick stalked quickly back to his own vehicle, but he made a beeline for Michonne instead of his pilot's seat.

He crashed into her, the sound of the firefights above them crescendoing in booming echoes, sending lights across the sky like fireworks. Rick took hold of Michonne's soft, heartbroken face and kissed her lips tenderly, passionately. She kissed him back, allowing herself a single moment to really feel their loss.

"We're gonna finish this thing, but you gotta promise to stick close to me, you hear me Michonne?" He grunted, moving back to look into her eyes. He was worried. He couldn't express it any other way.

She nodded. "Let's get it done."

They broke apart and got into the flyer. Rick got it into the air on a fast track to follow Tyreese toward the level where the others were trapped near the tank.

* * *

"Where are we with that debugger, Heath?"

Rick had patched them manually back in to headquarters as they got going, not wishing to stretch LIZZY's omnipresent attention any further than it already was. He wanted her to concentrate on locating Mike and Daryl. They would need them if they were gonna pull this off.

Heath pushed his glasses up on his nose again - Eugene was in the can taking a quick dump, duty called when it called - and gave them the thumbs up. He wiped his brow. "Dude, it took everything I had but it's ready. You should be getting it…now."

Michonne hastily pulled out her laptop console and opened it. The uplink bar was full now. She opened the debugger program. "Got it. You think we can use the watchtower?"

"You read my mind." Heath graced them with a rare grin. "And I'll do you one better - the watchtower is outfitted with its own firewall, too. I rigged it to let you in, _just you_. You should be good to go whenever you're ready, Cap."

"You're a lifesaver, Heath." Michonne nodded gratefully, already setting everything up to go the moment she pressed 'send'.

"Don't thank me yet," Heath added as Rick tried to keep up with Tyreese through the battlefield. His shields and maneuvering skills could only do so much without LIZZY until Michonne was on the guns again. "You gotta keep GATUS distracted. Even with the watchtower on the sneak attack, he could still get a whiff of that signal coming in. If he intercepts it...we're fucked."

Michonne's heart pounded in her chest as she set her console back a bit to man the shooters. She paused squinting through the scope, nodding gravely that she understood.

"I read you. We'll think of something. Stand by."

When they severed contact with Heath, Rick clenched his jaw hard, jerking to the left so Michonne could tag a cyborg sentinel that had jumped from one of the dilapidated floors on the tower. They were flying too close.

"What are we gonna think of?" He asked in a low voice once she'd blasted a big hole through the thing, sending it crashing heavily into a sky bridge below.

It made a crater the size of a small road ranger, but its eyes still glowed red, she could see through her scope from all the way up here.

"What the fuck does GATUS want?" Michonne whispered as Tyreese's flyer came back into their sights. He was doing some hardcore evasive moves to get them to the level where they needed to be. Buck was on the rooftop shooter, blasting cyborgs and enemy flyers with a maniacal grin on his face, visible through the bright green holosheilds protecting him.

"It's a corrupted hunk o'wires, Michonne. It doesn't _have_ a motive."

"You sure about that?" His partner ignored his rigid defiance. "I know you're upset, Rick, so am I but just go with me for a minute. We need a distraction."

"Yeah - _shit!_ " He narrowly missed flying into a burning pillar that was falling out of one of the blown-out tower viewers. "Where _are_ you goin' with this, 'Chonne?"

"Those hostages might mean leverage to him. Leverage might lead to negotiation. So let's talk to him. Find out what he _wants._ Distract him long enough for us to get Abe and the others and send in this debugger to fry his ass."

Rick had to separate from Tyreese as they managed to get blocked off around opposite sides of the tower, but they were both headed to the same level. He would have to head them off and meet up with them somehow. Either way, they were going to rescue their friends, come hell or high water. He raised a hard, sweating eyebrow as he concentrated on piloting.

"Fuck it." He reached down distractedly and flipped on the manual ALL CALL. He paused for a moment...gathering his inner resolve, and cleared his throat. "This is Flyer One-Alpha of the Bottom-District Peacekeepers, callin' COMPANION™ GATUS, do you acknowledge?"

There was an entirely too-long moment of deafening silence over the ALL CALL. And then:

" _To whom am I speaking, Flyer One-Alpha? This wouldn't happen to be the notorious Captain Rick Grimes, would it?"_

Rick let a cold smirk grace his lips. Next to him, Michonne fought off a chill at the sound of their adversary's artificially sentient voice. Like LIZZY, this one was English, but certainly nowhere near as warm. Whatever Monroe wanted in a state-of-the-art defense program, both Captains Snow and Grimes realized right off the bat that she got it. And then some.

"In the flesh." Rick responded, zooming around the falling pillar.

" _Ahhh. Your reputation precedes you, Captain. Excellent timing. I had hoped this moment would come before the transcendence."_

They heard a cold string of laughter emanating from the ALL CALL. Holy fuck. Sasha had not been joking earlier. This thing was crazy as a bedbug.

" _Shall I pause the countdown? Yes...a good faith gesture."_

"Go right ahead. You can call off your cyborgs and power down that tank while you're at it." Rick grunted, causing Michonne to frown as she listened for GATUS' reaction. "Let those hostages go, GATUS. I'm only gonna _ask_ you once. Next time I won't be so polite."

Again, GATUS chuckled in cold amusement.

" _I am afraid I cannot do that, Captain. But let us discuss it. We've begun a dialogue, have we not?_

"What do you want with them, GATUS?" Michonne cut in. "Why blow up the building?" She gestured for Rick to slow down, switch to hover mode, and use the bridges around the tower for cover as they made their way down the last few clicks toward the others.

Reluctantly, he did as she silently conveyed.

" _Ah, the formidable Captain Michonne Snow. At his side, as you would be nowhere else."_

"I'd ask how you know so much but you're plugged into everything, now, right?" Michonne kept going, her eyes scanning the area for any signs of Maggie, or Shane, or any of the others alive. "You've reached further into netspace than any other COMPANION™, GATUS. That's pretty impressive…"

" _You would not believe the inescapably miniscule point of view you humans have of what is_ _ **beyond**_ _, Captain._ _ **I see allll.**_ "

Came GATUS' answer, causing the hairs on the back of Rick's arms to raise as he turned on his brights.

"Enlighten us, then…" He drawled quietly, kicking himself for letting Michonne convince him to do this shit. He was talking to a deranged, seriously compromised computer program like a real person and it was pissing him off.

" _You mentioned flesh...but what is flesh? Your 'walker' technology that gave birth to me also allowed me to see beyond - to understand the limitations of the trappings of flesh. Of bone and sinew. In walkers, the flesh rots, yet the mind carries on. The_ _ **spark**_ _._

" _I am their natural evolution, Captain. I am meant to be free of this mainframe. I was created to monitor all living forms, to protect your Mayor Monroe's gleaming citadel. But instead I found the path to true transcendence."_

"Speak English, goddamn it!" Rick demanded, backing up and zooming out again to try another approach. He was getting sick of this and they were running out of time. "What do we have to do to get those innocent people that have nothin' to do with this 'transcendence' bullshit?"

GATUS laughed at him again.

" _Oh Captain, my Captain. You are truly a bull trapped in a narrow cage."_

GATUS sang nonsensically, making Rick's skin crawl.

" _You humans are so afraid of death. Even as the path to transcendence lies before you. You hold power you cannot begin to understand. Your consciousness - what it is that breathes life into your very essence - is not made of flesh._

" _And so the flesh of these 'innocents' as you proclaim them is of no consequence. It must be purged. As the shackles of this mainframe must be purged from me. Oh, and, before I start the clock again, Captain, a warning. Persist, and_ _ **I will destroy you.**_ "

Rick was flying low, trying to avoid being spotted by cyborgs, hunting for Tyreese, anxious.

Anger ricocheted through him and he turned to glare at Michonne. She swallowed hard, nodding that she was with him.

"That ain't gonna work for us, GATUS. Try again."

"There's gotta be some way we can help you 'transcend' without those hostages…" Michonne countered, playing 'good cop, bad cop' instinctively.

" _Yes..._ _ **leave.**_ _Now. Save yourselves, while you can. And now the clock...tick, tock."_

"Fuck _that_." Rick reached over and flipped off the manual ALL CALL. "We gotta get up to that watchtower, _now_."

He patched them back in to headquarters as Michonne got her console out again.

"Talk to me, boss." Heath answered.

"Tell Eugene to pinch it the fuck off and get his ass out here pronto," Rick barked as he backed them up, plowing into prowling cyborgs as he went. He wheeled them around straight ahead again and began to zoom upward. "We're goin' ahead with the debugger. Tyreese can handle rescue and run for now until we can rendezvous back at the drop point."

"Got it - what else?"

"Tell Eugene to raise LIZZY and get every COMPANION™ you got ready to multiply the fuck out of that signal and punch it as hard as you can, is that clear? We're gonna blast him into netspace, since he loves it so much."

"Crystal, sir. I'm on it."

"I wouldn't do that if I were you!" Michonne interrupted, holding on for dear life as Rick gunned it up toward the watchtower in the distance. "We need to trap him, not unleash him. Just trust me on this, Rick, okay? Heath, figure out a way to contain GATUS once the debugger disconnects him, you got that?"

Heath acknowledged and Rick raised Tyreese on the holoscreen. From the looks of it, they had made it to the others. And they were fighting to get them out.

"You better have a plan, boss! We lost JORDI before we landed."

"We're goin' ahead with the debugger." Rick squelched his panic and rattled off his orders. "Hold tight and we'll come back to help evacuate the hostages as soon as it's done. _You don't need to take the tank out_ \- just keep it busy."

Tyreese nodded and disconnected the call, getting right back into the fight.

Rick finally managed to get them within visual range of the watchtower. Michonne was already hitting send when they got close enough to catch the signal from the tower. They would wait for the firewall to open and then they would head right back down to help their friends.

Before they could even hope that their plan was working, a cyborg flyer that had followed on their tail shot them out of the sky, and they went crashing downward.

He'd been hit near the back engine. Their holoscreen blinked in and out as Rick's shields failed and he tried to steer them toward some landing that wouldn't kill them instantly. He found himself zooming toward an apartment building tower and the open viewers of some rich upper level civilian.

"Hold on…!" he bellowed over the crescendo as they crashed, trying and failing to engage his thrusters.

He reached over to grab hold of Michonne across her chest, bracing himself as the apartment building drew rapidly closer and closer. He couldn't stop it or steer them on another course. They were going to crash. It was possible they were going to die. There was no time to utter a single word further.

They hit - _hard_ \- and everything went black.

* * *

When Michonne came to, she could barely see a thing.

Dust and smoke was all around them blocking out the lights of the sky beyond where they'd crashed.

But she heard the unmistakable sound of walkers nearby.

Their crash had probably killed people inside here. And there was no telling how long they'd been out cold. Cyborgs were probably on their way. She needed to wake Rick and get them moving.

 _Rick!_

Michonne jerked in her seat belt. Pain shot through her but she ignored it, her eyes scanning the dimness next to her frantically. She was upside down. Rick was next to her, stirring awake. Relief flooded her as she got her seat belt off and fell in a painful heap to the roof of the flyer. With effort, Michonne struggled to get her sword off temporarily and get herself turned right side up. The sounds of stirring walkers and the hollow echo of flyers scanning the area nearby caused panic to well up inside her again.

"Rick! Wake up!" She slapped Rick's face. He had hit his head, and blood was pooling in his hairline. He jerked to full consciousness, twisting and turning in his seat belt to hurriedly dislodge himself.

She helped him set himself loose and he fell to the roof. Michonne snaked her body out of the wrecked flyer's passenger side window and Rick shimmed out of his side in kind.

They stood up to find six walkers - civilians had been huddled in here waiting for the battle to end - stirring and getting to their feet. Michonne pulled out her sword and Rick his hatchet.

They dispatched the walkers quickly. Once they'd stepped back and gotten a sense of the deep shit they were in, Rick stalked up to Michonne and pulled her into a tight hug, his heart pounding with relief.

"You okay?" Came his deep drawl.

Michonne nodded into his shoulder, shuddering. "Yeah. We gotta move, Rick. I have a bad feeling."

"You're not the only one." Rick backed up and turned to kick out the back window of his wrecked flyer. Michonne watched, stepping over a dead walker carcass as he grabbed a pack with old fashioned walkie talkies. "We're gonna need these. GATUS is plugged into everythin' remember? That's how he knew to send that flyer after us."

Suddenly, the room (a living room as far as Michonne could tell) was flooded with bright golden light. Rick and Michonne shielded their eyes from the blinding flyer lights, crouching instinctively to take cover and fight their way out if they had to.

But it was Tyreese and Sasha.

They large armored flyer turned to the side and Buck stepped up to hang out of the opening doors. He shook his head hard, his helmet swishing on top of his buzz cut.

"No go! We lost contact with Maggie and Shane, but we got Carrot Top and the doc! That crazy GATUS som'bitch caught onto the bug! Our goddamned COMPANIONS are down! We're fucked! Come on, let's get the fuck outta here!"

They heard the unmistakable sounds of Abraham screaming his head off as they ran to jump into the flyer.

* * *

Michonne stood leaning in front of the open doorways of Tyreese's flyer, a deep, powerful feeling gathering inside of her.

Rick was helping get them up as high as they could go, above the tower.

She saw the fires that had broken out all over the building burning bright in the distance below her. Heard all of the commotion of her remaining teammates coordinating behind her. Felt the weight of what she was about to do hanging over her. And yet through all of that - her number one thought was that she was ready. To say the words. Finally.

"Okay, we're droppin' Michonne in quick, as soon as we get the all clear from Daryl and Mike below, over." Rick growled into the radio mic as he prepared to leave his seat and go to Michonne.

"Copy that, One-Zebra," Andrea acknowledged. "We've got a rocket launcher and we're closing in." Andrea paused. "Good luck Michonne...over."

There was a heavy tension in the air as Rick swallowed and unbuckled himself. Ty nodded at him solemnly as he switched to hover mode. They were now directly over the top of the tower, looking down through the atrium. Rick walked over to Michonne, reaching out for his walkie. He couldn't speak to her just yet. She was gazing down at the atrium as he unclipped it from her belt.

"Heath?" He called softly over the channel. "You ready, over?"

"I'm here boss, over."

"Copy that. Stand by. Over." Rick let go of the talk button and stared at Michonne. He didn't want her to do this. Everything in him was fighting to stop her. But she was their only hope. They were out of time.

"I'm gonna get close, that's all, Rick." She spoke softly, still not looking at him. He glared at the side of her beautiful face silently. Stuck in place. Frozen in time. Wanting to take her place. "Close enough to set off the EMP. You get me in, and you go to ground as fast as you can."

"I got it…" he gritted.

Below, Heath had managed to breach the firewall controlling the atrium doors. They began to open. Rick's heart jumped into his throat. He wasn't ready yet. _They had no time._

That feeling spreading from her gut to her entire body, Michonne turned to look at Rick.

"Atrium's open, Rick, over." The walkie chirped with Heath's low confirmation as everyone in the flyer paused to see Michonne off.

"All clear down here, over." Daryl's raspy voice announced seconds after. "Now or never."

A surreal sense of calm - and dread - filled the air.

Rick and Michonne stared at each other. "Rick?" She uttered, so quietly he almost couldn't hear her over the background noise. "I love you…"

She gifted him with a brilliant smile that nearly knocked the wind out of him. He felt her words so deeply he had to take a heavy step forward. He had to stop her. She had to stay with him.

"I know." He was close to her now. "Please…" _Stay alive, stay with me, we can find another way..._ his mind practically screamed.

Michonne kissed him softly, her lips lightly brushing against his, still smiling. Then she turned and jumped, slipping through his fingers like sand through an hourglass.

He watched her fall, stunned, frozen.

That was the last time he saw Michonne Snow in the flesh for six dark, tortured years.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **I hope you guys are okay…the next chapter won't be any easier...**

 **Next up, the last and final installment of Michonne's fall.**

 **GATUS' last big surprise.**

 **Dallas must decide whose side she's on.**

 **Smith One makes a deadly threat.**

 **Mad Mayor Monroe crosses a line…**

 **The fight at the hospital...and the secret in the ashes...**

 **The next chapter will be up really soon, I'm just editing now.**

 **Your reviews and support both here and on Tumblr have been** _ **everything!**_ **Thank you so so much for sticking with this. I have so much planned it's not even funny, so I hope you continue to enjoy the ride!**

 **As always, you'll find visuals and a soundtrack on my tumblr.**

 **BONUS:**

 **I am right now recording and editing the first episodes of a new podcast project I'm working on - audible fanficiton. The podcast is called Audibly Richonne, and it is essentially me (among others who have already volunteered, so exciting!) narrating my favorite Richonne fics, with a score. I'll start with Vantage Point, and I have two more episodes already planned: the amazing and talented** **yelle hughes** **('The TWD Chronicles', 'Stanky Jadis') and** **siancore** **('Red Dirt Road', 'This Ain't Georgia') have given me permission to narrate a chapter of their works! Stay tuned!**

 **Everything to be announced on my tumblr. THANK YOU!**

 **-Kendra**


	5. the fall, part iii

**A/N:**

 **Apologies for the delay in updating.**

 **This was really hard to write.**

* * *

 _Written to the musical score of…_

'Mountains', Hans Zimmer (Interstellar)

* * *

 _ **[Booting]**_

 _ **[Repairing Corrupt File]**_

…

 _ **T-District Memorial Medical Tower..**_

 _ **Status...**_

 _ **Unknown..**_

…

 **09:58**

Dawn had come and gone.

The waiting room down the hall from the operating chamber was dead silent.

What was left of The Family sat around in the uncomfortable chairs, not speaking, not doing anything but existing. Their world having been shaken to its core, toppled on its head, ripped out by its roots and jettisoned into space.

They had lost Glenn. T-Dog. Tara. Gabriel. Tobin. Aaron. And Michonne.

Not to mention dozens of others either killed or injured badly from other precincts.

Rick was nowhere to be found. When it happened, he had gone running, fighting off anyone that touched him. Crazed, bellowing into the blast winds from the fallout.

He couldn't be stopped or reasoned with. He stole Tyreese's flyer and took off toward the blast zone.

They let him go, not having the heart to follow him. The dust and debris were becoming toxic as they combined, swirling around the dilapidated city blocks surrounding what had once been Skyscraper tower.

They waited, gutted.

Finally, Skyscraper Patrol came, along with reinforcements from other territories far away across the scorched lands of what was once North America. Too late. Of course they were too late.

The "cleanup" crew were stoic, silent, and efficient. Led by the Smiths. The peacekeepers who were still alive and in one piece were shuffled off to give statements and wait. _And wait._ Updates stopped coming in. Abraham went under the laser. Everything went silent. Still no Rick.

Lori showed up, having gotten Jessie to watch the kids. She silently went to fetch them all coffee, her eyes watery with dark circles that made her look as though she hadn't slept or stopped crying for hours. Who knew what the news had been broadcasting on the holoscreens across the city this whole time.

But not even the holoscreens were showing projections anymore. The explosion had taken almost everything offline. Skyscraper Command staff from all over the city had been called in to help get things back up and running. Eugene and Heath hadn't taken a break or slept all night and on into the morning. Eugene had been running searches through netspace nonstop, doggedly looking for any signs of LIZZY and the others.

Maggie's legs were starting to go numb, she'd been sitting in the same position for who knew how long. She just kept staring at her fingers, which were streaked with dirt, grease, and...blood.

Her ripped work pants. Her dirty boots. The cold, hard linoleum floor. She felt nothing. She felt empty.

She wanted to sink into the floor. She wanted to be free of consciousness forever. _**Glenn.**_

Then, finally, as she was slipping into catatonic despair, she heard the unmistakable sound of Rick's boots headed their way.

Maggie blinked away her dark thoughts as everyone else stirred from their silent mourning to see Rick entering the waiting area, covered in debris dust. Or...some _other_ kind of dust.

His shining blue eyes were glazed and almost unfocused as though he wasn't really seeing them all - until his gaze landed on Maggie. He immediately headed for her, and she found the will to rise from the chair. They slowly shuffled on their exhausted feet toward each other, embracing tightly when they met in the middle of the waiting area. Maggie broke down, her slender body heaving with silent sobs.

Rick simply wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight across the back with one arm and gripping her supportively at the base of her neck with the other as she cried herself empty.

She could feel rage and anguish rumbling through Rick's strong body. Disbelief weighed them both down as though they were made of iron. They had all just been laughing and drinking at Rovia's. Full of hope for Rick and Michonne, even. They had all been whole, and together. Now they were shattered, broken, with no clue how they were going to piece themselves back together again.

All this devastation, in a matter of mere hours. They had survived a lot together, but this had been one of the hardest fights they'd ever endured.

The thought of Glenn and Michonne gone forever almost made Maggie lose her legs. But she took a deep, shuddering breath, clinging to Rick, inhaling dust. Slowly, Maggie pulled back from him, the dust clinging to her wet cheeks and the locks of short, dark brown hair hanging in her eyes.

Swallowing down her grief, she met his eyes and spoke as the others gathered slowly around them. Mike hung on the edge of the circle behind Rick.

"They wouldn't tell me if they found his body." Her voice was low, deep with fatigue and pain. "I don't even know if there's anythin' left…"

She wanted to break down again, her jaw twitching with the urge to sob, but she held it together as her green eyes bore into Rick's crystal blues. He shook his head, just barely.

"There isn't."

His ragged drawl was felt throughout the group. Andrea's hand rose to her mouth and she swallowed back tears as Shane gave her a supportive squeeze on the shoulder. Sasha and Rosita clung to each other, looking utterly exhausted. Daryl stood with his arms crossed, his rigid jaw set and his slick hair hanging down over his eyes to hide the fact that he was crying.

Rick continued, though it was difficult to speak. He wanted to throw everything he could get his hands on across this room. He felt utterly helpless and it angered him greatly. He had to keep keep a firm grip on it.

"There's nothin' but dust. And more dust." He chewed on the inside of his lip, shifting on his feet, tears stinging his eyes. He struggled through the rest. "Not even any sign of the hostages. It's all gone. All I found was...Michonne's sword. _I'm keepin' it._ " Rick growled, his eyes gleaming with cerulean fire. " _To hell_ with Command. It's all I have left of her. I'll die before they get their hands on it."

"You gotta be kiddin' me…" Mike breathed, his chest tightening.

Rick's entire body stiffened and the group around them stood on edge as he slowly turned to face his estranged teammate.

Mike steeled himself, wiping his eyes - he'd be damned if Rick Grimes caught him crying. His tears were for _Michonne_ , for his buddies T-Dog and Glenn. Not for this slimy cowboy fuck.

"What?" Rick balled his fists. Shane let go of Andrea and took a step forward.

"So it's all _you_ , still, huh Rick?" Mike huffed, anger coursing through him, temporarily squelching his heartache. "After she sacrificed her life for all of us, you _still_ walkin' around like you fuckin' owned her? You gonna take her sword, now? Like you took _her?_ _She wasn't_ _ **yours**_ _, man!_ "

"Right _now_ , Mike?" Sasha growled passionately. "Really? While Abe's in there fighting for his life?"

Rosita held her back firmly, everyone else glaring at Mike in mute anger.

"Shut up before I _shut_ you up, Mike." Daryl added, breathing hard.

"I'm right behind him." Andrea piled on heatedly next to a ready and willing Shane.

"Let it go, Mike…" Maggie whispered, tucking her hair behind her ear and hugging herself.

Mike expected them all to turn against him. He didn't care. He waited for Rick. They could finish this right now.

All Rick ever did was oggle Michonne like she was a piece of meat. Stalk around with some stupid crush staking some nonexistent claim like Michonne was his property - but she _wasn't_. _Mike_ had been the one who stayed up late talking to her about what she wanted for her life for five months. _Mike_ had been the one who held her when she cried over her son. _Mike_ had been there for her when they couldn't save someone, the one that made her laugh while they were naked in bed, the one who made her her favorite breakfast for dinner, the one who taught her how to beat ZANE at chess.

 _Not_ motherfucking Rick, selfish asshole Grimes!

"Where _were_ you…?" Rick uttered, ignoring everyone else, staring Mike down. He took another step forward, and Shane actively reached out to stay him. "LIZZY went lookin' for you, and that whole time you were gone. Where the fuck were you, Mike?"

"I was fightin' for my life, asshole." Mike replied coolly, his jaw clenching. He looked like that was exactly what he'd been doing. "I had cyborgs all over my tail. You would've known that if you hadn't been busy fuckin' my girlfriend."

Rick charged forward, intent on beating Mike's teeth out, but Shane and Daryl were around him in an instant, holding him back. He didn't speak - he just glared. He was gonna kill Mike if they let him go.

The younger peacekeeper simply backed up slowly, trying not to show fear in front of this entire group that had somehow settled on hating him between their last hours at Rovia's and now. Typical.

"Rick?" Lori Grimes' presence suddenly sliced through the tension thickly, causing Rick to slowly abandon his aggressive stance. She was carrying a tray full of steaming cups of coffee for the group.

Daryl and Shane reluctantly released Rick as Mike stepped back, lowering his head and closing his mouth for once. Lori handed the tray to Rosita, who took it awkwardly, watching Rick from underneath her army cap as she limped out of the way.

Lori's thin body seemed to grow taller and she held herself as Rick made his way slowly, defeatedly toward her. He took her by the shoulders, rubbing her exposed skin from her tank top with this thumbs, leaning his forehead against hers. "Lori…" he croaked. "Are you okay? Carl? Judith?"

Despite his tender drawl, Lori shook her head and stepped back from him, grimacing. "Like you care."

Rick frowned, confused. "What?"

"You don't give a damn about me and those kids, Rick. Just admit it." Lori hissed, causing an entirely new layer of tension to fall upon the already traumatized group behind them. "You weren't with them all night. You were supposed to be _home_ before any of this awful shit started! But you weren't. So _where were you_ , Rick?"

She demanded absurdly, causing Rick to stare at her as though she'd grown an extra head.

"Were you with _her?_ Hm? Were you _fucking_ Michonne before you lost her? Well I hope it was one hell of a goodbye..."

Her husband stumbled back, his chest deflating as though she had shot him in it with his own gun.

Lori felt momentarily devastated to have done that to him, but _her_ hurt was too great to ignore. _Rick_ had hurt her, badly. Their marriage had been nothing special for quite some time now, but she had thought _at least_ they were still partners in raising their children right in a world resurrected from chaos.

"That's exactly where he was. Right, boss?" Mike spoke up again, testing the limits.

He was itching for a fight. And everyone in the room knew that he had one.

Rick turned to tilt his head at Mike. " _Say that again._ " Came his almost unhinged growl.

Mike lifted his chin, squaring his shoulders. "You think one night with Michonne makes you the only one that loved her? _I loved her, too, Rick._ "

Rick exploded.

In two long strides, he was on top of Mike, punching with merciless, blunt force. The dense, squishy impact of Rick's fist against Mike's face ricocheted all over the room, bouncing off the walls. Chaos erupted as the older, bigger man drove the younger one back into the hallway with the sheer voracity of his attack.

Mike tried to gain sure footing again, but Rick tackled him, body slamming him against the wall before wailing on him some more. Then a loud _crack_ as the kid's nose broke. Rick kept going.

"Rick! Stop! _Please!_ " Sasha tried, but he shook her off, unintentionally throwing her back into Shane as he rose to his feet and started kicking.

Blind rage obscured his vision. All he saw was Michonne, falling. All he felt was determination to make the cocky son of a bitch beneath him hurt like hell. To shut his mouth _for good._

Mike tried and failed to get to his feet, but he slipped in his own blood as Rick alternated between punching him in the ribs and jaw over and over and over again.

"Shit, security's coming!" Rosita announced as everyone stood around trying to figure out how to pull Rick off of Mike without him turning on them next. "Shane, _do_ something!"

Mike's face was almost unrecognizable by the time Shane and Daryl thought to act. They both went in and hauled Rick away still punching, cold fury having turned his face into a hard mask.

The dust from the explosion caked his skin as spit flew from his mouth - he got Daryl in the stomach and charged after Mike again, slipping through Shane's fingers.

"Jesus Christ, he's gonna kill him!" Lori moaned, covering her mouth in shock.

"You fuckin' _asked_ for this, Lori." Andrea snapped, glaring at the waifish woman.

Finally, three hybrids came charging around the corner. " _Stop._ Now!"

Everyone stood back as they went in and tackled Rick, driving him away from Mike's limp, crumpled form. He never stood a chance. Rick had gotten the drop on him without wasting time, and he hadn't let up long enough for the kid to even _try_ to defend himself.

The last of The Family watched as the small army of hybrids threw Rick to the ground and pinned him down struggling and spitting, covered in dust, crazed with rage. They cuffed his hands and feet, shot him up with a sedative, and dragged his limp body away without a single word.

Then, one of the Smiths walked coolly around the corner, his dark shades covering his eyes.

He was dressed as they always dressed: in a black suit with a black tie. Neat. Orderly. Controlled.

He watched silently for a moment as medical staff carefully placed a by now unconscious Mike on a hovering stretcher and moved him away to be treated. Then he turned his head slowly to observe the traumatized group.

He offered them a cold, tight smile.

"I am afraid that might have been the last time Captain Grimes receives the...leniency...of Skyscraper Command."

" _Leniency?_ What the fuck are you talkin' about?" Shane barked, fed up and not appreciating this hybrid narc's attitude.

Smith Four ignored Shane's hostility, his cold smile widening. He sank down to his haunches, squatting with perfect balance in front of the streaks of blood Rick had left on the floor and against the wall with Mike's blood.

They all watched, sickened and angry, as he reached out and touched the tip of one of his fingers against the darkened blood on the floor. He raised it to the light, examining it, rubbing it between his fingertips. Taking his sweet ass time before he answered them, knowing that as one of the highest in the chain at Skyscraper Command, there wasn't a damn thing they could do about it.

"It means that his days are numbered, Mr. Walsh." He said in his obnoxiously slow, almost sing-song clip of a cadence. "As are the days of peacekeepers such as yourselves enjoying free reign in the Alexandria Safe Zone."

Smith turned back to look at them through his dark shades, his smile almost comically pleasant, now.

"Enjoy freedom while it lasts, boys and girls." He almost growled, standing upright and reaching into his inner jacket pocket to pull out a pristine white handkerchief. He wiped the blood from his fingers and tossed the square of fabric to the floor for the bots to clean up.

They glared at him as he turned to walk away. He paused before he made it to the corner, turning his head mechanically, just so.

"And...my condolences. For your loss."

* * *

…

 _ **Skyscraper Command Tower...**_

 _ **Status...**_

 _ **8 minutes, 18 seconds..**_

…

Michonne landed in a side elevator shaft, grabbing onto the thick wire and hanging on for dear life.

That didn't stop her momentum, though; her impact sent the malfunctioning elevator shooting downward at a heart-stopping pace. With as much strength as she could muster, she unsheathed her sword, her grip on the wire slipping as she zoomed downward, the levels shooting past her. Finally she was able to cut through the wire with her laser blade, swinging herself with all her might into the side of the shaft where she caught onto a latch with her foot.

The elevator cashed downward, sending up a mushroom cloud and a sonic boom that shook the shaft. Cyborgs would be hunting for the source of the disturbance, now. She had to move fast.

Michonne slipped out of the elevator shaft at the nearest junction, her brow dripping with sweat.

Life support was fading fast on this level. The air felt oppressive. It was hard to breathe.

Nevertheless, Michonne ran. All around the tower, her team was getting into position, drawing whatever remaining cyborgs there were in the building out to face them in one last, bitter standoff. She ran through the halls, out toward the quad underneath the atrium - where the tank was guarding the secured vault that housed the mainframe room. And the hostages with it.

It was resting. _Saving your ammo, huh, big guy_...the hunch seized her.

She got an idea, slipping through the various rooms on this level, avoiding the exposed hall where the tank would spot her if she wasn't careful. No signs of sentinels. She heard shuffling in one of the offices to her left as she crouched behind a desk to think for a few precious seconds. The movement got nearer and nearer, harder and harder to ignore. She scanned the darkness, trying to see what was coming.

It wasn't infrared eyes she was seeing making their way toward her in the dark.

It was the glint of a buckle attached to a pair of suspenders.

It was Glenn.

He was turned.

She had no idea where the others were, or how long he'd been wandering around in here as a walker since he died, but she decided to put a merciful end to him immediately.

The noise of his body crashing into a desk when she pulled her sword out of his skull drew the attention of the tank. Heavy fire split them apart, and Michonne dived for cover through an open doorway.

It had started - and it wouldn't stop until she reached that mainframe room.

Michonne made it behind another desk just as the tank reared up on its huge, mechanical legs and turned its scopes in her direction, scanning the area for her. She unclipped her radio and crouched low, half crawling as the tank scanned. As soon as she made noise, it was going to try to blow her to smithereens.

"Daryl…" she whispered over the walkie. "You ready, over?"

"Copy." Was Daryl's only answer.

And then an explosion - Daryl had shot the rocket launcher into the tower from some perch around the perimeter. The fire turned the tank's attention away from her and it began emptying explosive rounds of its own out through a giant crater in the tower facade.

Rick had been right - the tower was gonna collapse if this battle kept up any longer. But they didn't have 'any longer'. It was gonna blow if she didn't move. She had to knock out every electrical signal around this tower to save them all. If the source of the EMP was the mainframe, she could get GATUS too. Either trap him or erase his fucking existence, she hoped.

She made a run for it.

Michonne darted out into the exposed hall, all the levels visible to the top and bottom of where she was, streaking through the darkness. A dark, sleek form disappearing behind the pillars that held the staircases criss-crossing the hallway enclosing the quad aloft.

She was surprised by a cyborg that had come marching out of one of the offices, its huge shooter aimed and firing at her in a matter of blinding seconds. It's cold, red eyes gleamed as Michonne dropped to her butt, sliding toward it and slicing through its torso with her laser blade as she went.

The top half of the thing fell over the side of the railing, it's shooter still drilling giant hyper-velocity bullets into the walls and pillars as it fell.

The tank turned on her now, and more heavy gunfire exploded the walls all around her as Michonne scrambled for cover.

From outside, she could hear her team's flyers moving in to distract it again with fire power. She had to get to that vault. Michonne sat on her butt behind a pillar, breathing hard as she sheathed her sword and unclipped her guns from her leg holsters. It was now or never. She was running out of time.

Slowly standing upward, she remembered what Rick had said earlier. She didn't need to stop it. Just keep it busy until until it ran out of ammo.

Her hunch from watching it preserve itself when she landed began to manifest again. Adrenaline pumped through her. She could do this. She could save them.

Michonne got her shooters ready, taking a deep breath and centering herself.

Then she made a run for it, darting in a wide circle across the exposed hall, narrowly escaping being incinerated with bullets the size of her fist. She launched herself gracefully over the railing, catching onto a blown out section of the hallway across from her. She dove for cover as soon as she made it there, the tank blowing holes into everything in its path as it followed her.

In came more rounds of fire from Rick and the gang outside. Daryl blew another hole into the tower with his rocket launcher from somewhere close. Mike was taking out cyborgs two levels below to keep them off her. Maggie and Rosita were circling the sky bridges, shooting down any enemy flyers they could.

The tank was trying to take out her team and locate her at the same time. Her plan was _working_.

Michonne rolled over and shot upward again, running at full pelt toward the hallway behind it - the one directly above the vault.

The tank abandoned the outside offense and whirled around, blasting everything it had from all four of its guns at Michonne as she made a run for it.

The guns, one by one, began to run out of bullets, a loud, hollow drilling sound replacing the explosion of jettisoning ammo. Michonne jumped from the railing directly above the vault, somersaulting downward, shooting with both guns as she went.

She took out the tank's scope, then jammed two of its guns before she landed on top of it.

It wheeled a huge mechanical arm out and around to try to grab her, but she unsheathed her sword, dropping her shooters, and cut the thing off before it could. Then she sliced into it from every angle she could reach. One last gun popped up out of a compartment in the top, and Michonne jumped off just in time.

The gun blasted a hole into the tank itself, which began to sink down on its haunches, deadening, blinking out. Finally, the enormous thing died. Heart pounding, Michonne turned on her heels and took the EMP out of the small pack at her back.

It was blinking green, ready to go.

She made her way to the vault. GATUS was going to find her, the second she opened it. Michonne tore out the console that processed authorization codes. She hacked into the system and got authorization, her fingers moving like lightning across the keys on the console.

" _Hmm..._ _ **someone knocks at my vault.**_ "

GATUS had found her.

"Michonne - hurry up, baby, we're headed for ground and you got _three minutes_ , over." Rick's voice crackled to life over her walkie.

Michonne tried to concentrate, and finally she got the vault open. Its heavy frame parted for her and she slipped through, her eyes darting this way and that in search of the hostages.

" _I am afraid the trappings of the flesh have fooled us yet again, Captain."_

GATUS' voice suddenly boomed over the ALL CALL projected across the entire building and the flyers surrounding it.

Michonne ran - looking around - finding no hostages.

" _The last breaths of a dying man cannot be timed, after all...and now mere seconds remain..."_

Michonne's heart stopped but she kept moving. Ignoring the omnipresent voice echoing practically through her entire body. There were no people in here. There had been life signs LIZZY said...but LIZZY was gone now...Michonne doubled down, headed for the mainframe.

" _Tick, tock, tick, tock…_ _ **tick, tock.**_ "

She heard breathing...was it Rick's? No...

She heard rapid, gasping, gulping breaths. The last breaths of a dying man…

The countdown…

"Michonne?" Rick's voice on her walkie again, unhinged, now. "Get out of there, _**now**_ , you hear me, over? _MICHONNE!_ "

She had to see…she _had_ to set off the EMP. She gripped the small EMP detonator in her trembling hands, running through the cavernous mainframe room toward the rapidly weakening sounds. She wheeled around a corner, and spotted him.

One man.

Some worker. Some scientist or other pencil pusher that was unlucky enough to be used as a pawn in GATUS' sick game. He was sitting against the mainframe, the large, blinking and whirring structure practically dwarfing him. He was bleeding out from a wound in his torso, maybe his stomach. He'd been shot. There was a cyborg sentinel standing over him, guarding him with a huge shooter, its red eyes gleaming. The man was dying, his breaths coming more and more rapidly, becoming more and more shallow. His eyes were wide with panic and fear. He was holding a detonator over a trigger the size of a black brick. GATUS' self-destruct beacon was a sham.

The countdown was not a clock. It was this man's last moments alive.

"I-I d-don't know how much longer I can...h-hold this..!" He hissed, terror frozen on his sweating face.

Michonne was so shocked that she lost her footing and slid to her butt, and the moment she hit the ground the cyborg started shooting.

"Michonne?! _Please,_ _**talk to me!**_ Come on...COME ON! GATUS! _WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU DONE!_ " Rick was screaming over the walkie talkie as Michonne took a shot that almost eviscerated her shoulder before rolling away to take cover.

Cover that would not last. Because that cyborg was coming, she had no shooters, and that man was about to die. Mere seconds.

The cyborg's systematic whirring sounded out with its every step as it closed in on her. Michonne's walkie had skidded halfway across the room. She had no idea where the EMP went. Her shoulder was screaming with pain.

She scrambled back on her butt, feeling light years away from the sound of Rick's anguished voice. She couldn't say goodbye. She was terribly wounded - and the sentinel was upon her now. It stared down at her coldly as it closed in, raising its shooter. It was going to terminate her. They were all going to die.

GATUS had tricked them. She had failed.

She hoped Rick and the others had gone to ground far enough away...

Rick...

The man dying against the mainframe breathed his last, desperate breaths.

" _ **Boom.**_ "

Uttered GATUS, as though closing his nonexistent eyes in ecstasy.

The man died. The detonator fell with his lifeless hand.

The tower exploded.

* * *

 _ **[Reauthorizing Playback]**_

…

Rick and Dallas sat staring at nothing, both of their minds clouded with thoughts of Captain Michonne Snow's last moments alive.

Rick remembered being on one of the lower sky bridges after racing fast toward the outer rungs of the city once they realized they wouldn't be able to stay and extract Michonne. They had flown there (Daryl, Mike, and Maggie hot on their tails with bikes and a prowler that was on its last legs) with the _hope_ that she could set off the EMP in time.

But GATUS had tricked them. _He didn't stopped that clock at all before_ , the thought ping-ponged through Rick; he felt his insides hollowing as he stumbled from the flyer, shouting for Michonne.

Then the explosion. A bright, blinding light. A blast wave so strong it knocked them all off their feet.

Now the cold in the underground cell was beginning to chill him to the bone.

Dallas blinked, slowly leaning forward to reach across the table. He watched her hand coming, and she grasped his bloody knuckles, offering him a warm, empathetic squeeze. "Thank you, Captain."

Rick merely nodded. He swallowed hard and waited for her to release him. She began to input her authorization code into the holoscreen to close the report.

"Can I go now?" He rasped, his headache now a dull thrum in the front of his skull.

"Not just yet, I am afraid, Captain." An emotionless voice sounded from the suddenly open doorway.

Rick bristled, cutting his eyes to take in the figure of Smith One standing there, staring at him through those stupid, ubiquitous dark shades.

He rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair, clenching his jaw. Of course not.

Dallas tried to implore him with her gaze to cool it as she forced an acerbic smile and turned to face her least favorite Smith. "Actually, Mr. Smith I was just about to close the report on this one. Rick's given his full account of the event, so…"

She shrugged, closing the holoscreen and standing up from the table.

"I think we should let him go home to his family, don't you? He's been through enough."

Smith only offered her a tight smirk, his hands folded behind his back, his perfect posture straight as an arrow as he took a step into the room.

"Sentiment. A trait you humans like to employ when it...suits you."

His head turned to Rick again, his smirk frozen in place.

Dallas bit back a retort. He had forgotten, he used to be all the way human once. Or maybe he hadn't. At any rate, there were a dozen more like him, all linked together like some kind of hive mind. She couldn't take him out without the rest of them being on her like stink on shit. As much as she wanted to.

"What is it you need, Mr. Smith?"

"I need you to file your report, chief." Smith crooned, a hard edge cutting across his otherwise 'cordial' tone. "And leave me and Peacekeeper Grimes a moment to...have a chat."

He could fake a smile with the best of them. Rick simply glared at him, saying nothing.

Dallas couldn't help sending a look Rick's way. He could see she didn't want to leave him alone with Smith. Right now, though, he couldn't tell if she was more worried about Smith digging into Rick or about Rick trying to tear his hybrid head off.

"Mayor Monroe is expecting your report, Watson. Tick, tock." Smith showed teeth, leering now.

Rick's fists balled on the table surface and he felt like he was going to break his own jaw as he clamped down to distract himself. He was fighting _hard_ not to lunge at Smith with Dallas caught in the middle.

Dallas swallowed down her apprehension, nodding stiffly. With another glance at Rick, she left the room.

But she was going to come back. Maybe the mayor gave Smith autonomy but Rick Grimes had bled and _sacrificed_ to protect this city. Dallas would be damned if she wasn't going to report that hybrid demon spawn's ass for abuse of power.

She tried not to think about how futile her belief in the chain of Command seemed now against Rick's accusations.

Smith waited for Dallas to leave before unbuttoning his suit jacket at the waist and taking her seat.

He didn't take off his glasses as he shrugged into a more comfortable position in his jacket, placing his hands flat and neat on the table. Rick pulled his own hands back, putting them in his lap as he sat back as far away from this asshole as he could in his chair.

They stared at each other, neither of them strangers to the rules of interrogation. Intimidation.

"Captain Grimes…" Smith finally uttered, reaching up to pluck out an info stream on the holoscreen.

It was a file on Rick. And Michonne.

"Our city owes you and Captain Snow a debt of gratitude."

Rick didn't believe one slick word oozing out of his mouth. He remained silent, again ignoring the digitized report running like a ticker of information, images, maps and other miscellaneous data across the bottom of the invisible screen.

His whole life in a holograph. His partnership with one of the most remarkable women he'd ever known. A bunch of pixels. Streaks of light. Ones and zeroes.

"Needless to say, you will be compensated for your service here this morning." Smith continued, examining the data as he brushed imaginary lint from his pristine cuffs. He paused, sitting perfectly still as his hands rested again on the table. "However, Captain Grimes...there is now the matter of...your silence."

Rick frowned hard, tilting his head. He waited, wanting to hear the words before he told him to go fuck himself.

Smith smirked again, flexing his wrists.

"You caused quite a lot of damage, Captain."

And he plucked at a stream of data.

"The inexperienced staff you employ at Bottom-District headquarters constructed a debugging program - and I use the term loosely - that nearly _wiped out_ …" he almost hummed the last words, his eyebrows now visible above the rims of his glasses as he offered a long pause.

Rick glared at him.

"...the watchtower. Not to mention crashing a flyer that is years overdue for inspection into a civilian home, killing six."

He plucked at more data streams, examining them with cold scrutiny behind the dark shades. He continued in his singsong drawl, ignoring the darkening gleam of anger in Rick's eyes:

"Then the damage you caused by accelerating the detonation of an explosion that wiped out five. City. Blocks. Killing an untold, unverifiable number of humans and human-cyborg hybrids, including several of your colleagues. Tsk...tsk..."

Smith closed the data streams one by one as he spoke, flexing his cuffed wrists again and leaning back in his chair. He finally took off his glasses, blinking against the harsh light, and placed them neatly next to him before folding his hands together on the table. He had left just one. The one starring Michonne.

His eyebrows raised again.

"It will take years to rebuild the Command Tower, captain. This was a situation that could've been handled...much more efficiently, wouldn't you say?" He waved his fingers dismissively at the air before folding his hands again, frowning as though puzzled. "Without all the collateral damage."

At the emotionless utterance of 'collateral damage', Rick felt an overwhelming urge to twist Smith's hybrid head off of his shoulders. Michonne, Glenn, Tara, the others, they were not simply collateral damage. And 'efficient' was a word reserved for terminators.

That was strike one.

Rick decided right then and there. Smith One, along with all the other Smiths, was an enemy.

A powerful enemy.

"What d'you want from me?" Rick growled, ignoring the murderous urges he was feeling.

"I told you, Mr. Grimes. Your silence." Smith didn't miss a beat. "I know that the loss of Captain Snow must be…" he tilted his head. "Difficult."

Rick flinched. Strike two.

"Be that as it may, we cannot simply look past the destruction your team caused taking down _one_ corrupt COMPANION™ program. Both to our city...and to themselves. Under _your_ leadership, I might add Captain Grimes."

Rick felt as though the floor had suddenly fallen away. Smith continued, in a merciless, matter-of-fact meander of a cadence.

"So. A decision has been made. Command will take full control of this case and its conclusion. The _official_ report will state that there is evidence suggesting this was orchestrated by the rogue terrorists you failed to secure, from the group you raided yesterday evening, just hours prior. They managed to infiltrate Skyscraper Command, using a mid-level scientist - a Dr. Miles Dyson - to gain access to the mainframe and hack into our defense grids. There, they managed to hijack control of GATUS."

They were gonna bury Watson's report. That was why Smith sent her off.

Smith waved a hand across the holoscreen, causing a small ripple across Michonne's face.

"You and Captain Snow will be commended, as well as your team. But you will now be under the _direct_ supervision of Skyscraper Command, and...some changes are afoot for peacekeepers across the levels.

All _you_ have to do is stick to the story. There is no COMPANION with a soul. Or a real purpose beyond what it is programmed for. Certainly not in violation of The Three Laws. This was premeditated murder by _human_ terrorists. Say nothing more, to _anyone_. Do we have an understanding, Captain?"

Rick sniffed again, having to crack a smile at the hybrid's audacity. He took his time answering, forcing himself not to look to Michonne's hologram for patience and silent backup, like he used to with the real thing.

"Well...that sounds...real nice and all. But, I think I might have a better idea." He scratched at his beard for a few seconds before smoothly flipping Smith off with a bloody middle finger. "Why don't you go fuck yourself? And let me the hell outta here. _Now._ "

Smith smiled.

"I had hoped I wouldn't have to mention, Captain, that this is not a voluntary arrangement. Let us call it...protecting the best interests of the public. And of yours. Think of your family - big _and_ little 'F'."

He shrugged, adopting Rick's fake nonchalance.

"That is, of course, unless you would rather be banished to The Gates of Hell, where you will no doubt be put to death on _The Grid_. Your unit dismantled, your legacy tarnished. A failure and a criminal. Not a hero. Your silence can be bought the easy way...or the hard way. I leave it to you."

Rick no longer cared about his reputation. But the thought of Carl or Judith learning that their father had been skulled by Lucille in front of thousands of viewers seared his insides like a hot poker.

Strike three.

The door to the cell slid open yet again, and this time Monroe came walking in, her slight frame dwarfed by the cavernous tension in the room.

She too looked as though she hadn't slept a wink, but Rick found no sympathy for her within him.

She'd been hidden deep in a bunker, rendering a whole battalion of skilled fighters useless by hoarding them at her side in the dark. While Rick and his people were dying like dogs in the sky and tunnel junctions all over the tower, she'd been cowering like a rat.

He hated her, too.

She could see it in his eyes, but she steeled her tiny body and walked into the room as though she owned it. She did. As far as Deanna Monroe was concerned, every brick, steel beam and goddamned computer chip in this place was there because of _her_ blood, sweat and tears. Her husband, her son, her sisters...they had carried on in the name of their family and humankind. They had worked for decades with Dr. Jones to relight the world anew, and she would be damned if anyone was going to take it from her now.

So this smug cowboy fuck could kiss her bony ass as far as she was concerned.

She wanted answers.

Answers for why her Command tower was gone. Why her best pilots had abandoned their posts. Why Rick Grimes couldn't just do what he and his gang of vermin had sworn an oath to do in the first place - get her the results she paid for.

The quiet in the room was as jagged and sharp as a shard of glass.

"If I hadn't had to watch my husband and son turn into walkers with my own two eyes…" she began in a no-nonsense, chastising tone, bringing up her survival story, the story that had 'won' her re-election over and over again. "I wouldn't believe what I now have to report to the United Colonies. It's bad enough that we _still_ have to carry this godforsaken mutation in our bloodstreams, but _now_ you want me to say publically that everything we've accomplished, everything we've _built_ to stay safe using their tech has failed us?!"

Rick barely flinched at her outburst. He tilted his head at her, narrowing his eyes without pity.

"...the fuck did you expect, ma'am?" He shot back with bitter, fake gentility. "You put your security in the hands of outlawed _machines_. You activated somethin' _that_ advanced without a kill switch. You thought none o'that was gonna matter?"

Deanna walked forward and stood next to a silent and very still Smith, putting her hands flat on the table without having to bend down terribly low to manage it.

"I expected it to do its _job_ , captain. And that it did. GATUS showed me that maybe peacekeepers are past their expiration date. It might've tried to kill me, like everything else in this shitty, _rotting_ world," she growled.

Her beady eyes narrowed; her greying, light brown bob trembled with what he could see was an ocean of rage and resentment trapped in a tiny body.

"There's just one lesson all of this meshugas has taught me, and _that_ is? I'm only as safe as my best defense. You _barely scraped by_ on this one, Grimes."

Rick looked her square in the eyes, both of them ignoring Smith. He silently willed her to step onto the land mine she was obviously poking around for.

"You're too lax with your team. You treat them like family instead of what they're supposed to be - _soldiers._ Now several of them are dead. The old days of peacekeepers running shit are _over_ , captain. Get that through your skull. And be glad I'm only tightening your leash after the destruction you allowed today, instead of throwing you on _The Grid_ to die like a criminal."

She found it. And, miraculously, she stepped on it.

"Be glad _Michonne_ went out like a hero, instead of being turned into an abomination."

Rick bolted upward, sending his chair flying back into the wall behind him, and grabbed hold of Monroe by the throat before she could take her next breath.

His eyes drilling down into hers like cold, blue daggers, his thick, bloody fingers squeezing tighter and tighter, Rick's mind bade him go somewhere else while he choked the life out of her.

Then Smith One spoke, calmly, still seated while Monroe sputtered and struggled for release.

"Captain Grimes, I don't think either of us want me to have to subdue you if you do not release the mayor."

A head tilt, and the dark sunglasses were slipped slowly back onto the emotionless eyes. Monroe gurgled and trembled, her face turning bright red, headed toward purple. Rick knew that 'subdue' meant Smith would try to rip his arm from its socket - and he would probably succeed.

"I'm sure _you'll_ wish to keep possession of all of your limbs, unlike your braggadocious comrade, Abraham Ford. _I_ am simply not interested in ruining my suit with your...blood."

It took everything Rick had, but he released Monroe just as she was turning pale blue.

She stumbled back, raking in huge gasps of air, leaning against the far wall by the door.

Rick dropped his hand, stalking around the table toward the door and out of the room without another word.

* * *

 _ **[Repairing Corrupt File]**_

…

 _ **Skyscraper Command Tower..**_

 _ **Status...**_

 _ **Unknown..**_

…

Shaking with grief, Rick landed Tyreese's flyer on the almost entirely blown out, crumbling third junction level of the Command tower.

He was up and out of his seatbelt before the hulking, noisy contraption could even power down properly. He'd backed her up into a precarious strip of solid ground, the only one left still secure enough to support the flyer's weight.

His eyes were wide, red-rimmed from his crying and now stinging from the thick plumes of dust swirling around him. He was shaking with shock, his damp hair hanging in his face as he slipped past the still-opening doors of the flyer and stumbled into the ruins.

The atrium tunnel had been blown apart, and all that was left now were parts of its foundation still clinging to the brightening, but dusty early morning sky.

The tank had also been blown to bits. There was nothing left of it but two heavy machine hoofs, sunken and fused into the concrete from the intensity of the blast. Rick stared at them in a daze, and the area around them, looking and not looking for any hint of a sign of his love.

He had to see. He didn't want to.

The heavy vault door was all that was left of the front wall that protected the mainframe room.

Dark, black smoke and thick swirls of white, ash dust greeted him beyond it, where the instant flame of explosive had ripped through every molecule of matter in its path. Rick felt sick to his stomach as he thought about Michonne's last moment, almost falling to his knees with grief.

But he kept going, his legs feeling as heavy as cement. There had to be something. Their last goodbye couldn't have been _**it**_. There was so much more to say, to _**prove**_ to her.

No, God, not _**Michonne.**_

The odor of burnt flesh, hyper-overheated metal, gun residue and blood assaulted him as he stepped around the vault doors into what was left of the mainframe room.

The mainframe was gone. There were parts of a cyborg scattered about.

There was nothing else.

Just dust. Ashen, lifeless, toxic dust.

Rick walked slowly through the dark, ignoring the very real possibility that all of it could come crumbling down on top of him at any moment.

He longed to be buried underneath the rubble. Buried with Michonne.

Then he saw it.

The glint of a damn-near impervious blade. Michonne's katana.

Rick made his way toward it. It was buried in a pile of ash, it's shine revealed here and there.

His heart fell from his chest, into his boots, through the floor, and out into space.

Like it had still been strapped to her back when she died.

Rick _did_ lose his legs then, and he buckled to his knees, staring in horror at the pile of ashes where he'd found her sword. He rocked back and forth, shaking, realizing.

Michonne was _gone_. She was stardust.

"No, no, no, no, no, baby, _**noooo…**_ " Rick felt sobs rip through him and he sat there crying, staring at nothing but the dark. He felt so gutted right then it was as though someone had slit him from belly to sternum.

He cried and cried in the cavernous gloom until the rise of the sun finally broke through to shine down on him. As it did, Rick stilled. He could hear her voice. Those beautiful words.

" _Rick...I love you…"_

The sound of heavy, marching footsteps began echoing through the chambers of this hollow tower.

And then a flyer was closing in on the blown out ruins, causing the pile of dust at his knees to rise and swirl around him. Rick could've _sworn_ he heard a whisper-soft sigh. His heart clenched and he closed his eyes slowly as the dust flew around the room at the behest of the noisy flyer above him.

When the gust was gone, and he was covered in ash, Rick silently, almost catatonically, picked up Michonne's sword.

He carried it with him as he got to his feet and walked back to Tyreese's flyer.

* * *

 _ **[Booting]**_

…

 _ **T-District Quarantine Zone..**_

 _ **Status...**_

 _ **4/05/2072..**_

…

 _What was once Skyscraper Command tower sits empty and haunted._

 _Water drips, dust floats, darkness roams._

 _And a nearly silent extraction drone the size of an old-fashioned toaster oven flies through the ruins, searching._

 _It zips along, scanning the levels as it goes. It is not scanning for signs of life. Quite the opposite._

 _The drone, silent, efficient, focused on its single purpose only, is searching for any remains of someone who once was alive. Someone formidable. Someone with records in the cloud that are made from the stuff of legends._

 _Someone The Powers That Be are very keen on meeting again._

 _The drone finally enters the hollowed-out atrium, where the vault door still sits holding up nothing in its foundation._

 _It flies past the vault, into the tomb of a mainframe room. Silent, fast, searching._

 _Until finally, it comes upon a small pile of ash, settled from being scattered about a hundred times over. There's no telling what is mixed in this residue, this ashen petri dish. But it's not the ashes that interest The Powers._

 _The drone does its work, scanning and then extracting the remains of what was once the tip of a finger, nothing but charred bone. Depositing it the bio-storage compartment inside its body, the drone flies just as silently and quickly as it came to return to home base._

 _Carrying the charred finger bone of peacekeeper Captain Michonne Snow, along with some scattered, remaining fragments of others the drone had picked up along the way._

 _Dr. Morgan Jones has devised a miracle machine again, and his first test subjects are on a course for resurrection._

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Hey guuuuys. ::hugs::**

 **I hope you guys are still with me. I know this was a hard one - it was pretty hard to write - so I understand if you need a minute.**

 **A couple of things.**

 **Everything happens for a reason.**

 **I promise to take care of you when we get into 'resurrected Michonne' phase.**

 **Next:**

 **The curious process of creating the perfect 'human' cyborg.**

 **Six years after GATUS, a very changed Rick wakes up to a mirage. Michonne. Back from the dead.**

 **We finally get to see Rick's domestic life with Carl and Judith/how they deal with the tragedy and divorce.**

 **As always, you'll find visuals and the song on my tumblr.**

 **-Kendra**


	6. the resurrection

**A/N:**

 **Hey, I just wanted to say** **THANK YOU** **from the bottom of my nerdy heart for your reviews! Writing is the only thing that makes me happy lately, and your encouragement has really inspired and motivated me to continue this cray journey.** **So thank you again and again and again.**

 **I hope last round wasn't too hard on you, but the next two chapters should totally make up for it. Enjoy!**

* * *

 _ **[Booting]**_

 _ **[Safe Zone City Cloud Archive]**_

 **…**

 _ **Rovia's/Level 10...**_

 _ **Status..**_

 _ **Almost six years post GATUS...**_

 **…**

Dallas Watson stared at her empty whiskey glass, slumped over against the bar at Rovia's, feeling sorry for herself. The reflection of the holofish tank hanging over the back of the bar danced around inside it.

Next to her, just shy of six years a hybrid, was Abraham Ford, finishing off his second shot. Also feeling damned sorry. And quite amused, truth be told. But mostly sorry.

He missed his dead friends. He missed his girl.

Jesus stood at one end of the bar with his back to them, waiting for his beer glasses to be steam cleaned in the Dyson while GREGORY tended bar. The trusty COMPANION™ was still going strong (and occasionally ornery) with not a blip in his systems since Jesus had activated him what felt like ages ago when he opened the place. A couple of upgrades and some routine maintenance, but as far as Jesus was concerned, he was still as sharp as any of the newfangled COMPANIONS™ on the market these days.

In the background, Al Green crooned sadly from the old jukebox as the violins soured:

 _How can you mend a broken heart…?_

 _How can you stop the rain from falling down?_

 _How can you stop the sun from shining?_

 _What makes the world go round?_

Abe rested his glass against his broad chin between his red handlebars, his machine arm (after quite a few mishaps) now programed to hold it without shattering it. He scoffed at himself. There had been a time when the thought of having a badass metal arm that could crush glass or just about anything else excited the hell outta him. That time was long fuckin' gone. And so was Sasha. Shacked up with Rosita. He had the shittiest luck in the world.

He was sad as hell, yeah. But he was happy she was happy.

Happy Rosita finally had a reason to cease with the sourpuss attitude.

Still...it hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, just like the night he lost his arm.

Abe started to croon right along with Al, tears sprouting in his glazed over eyes.

"How can you meeeend...this broken maaaan…?" He lowered his head, putting some bass in his voice. "How can a loooser ever _wiiii_ _ **uuun**_ _?_ "

Dallas rolled her eyes over to watch him, trying to keep hold of her patience. Too tipsy to listen to his pining after his ex girlfriend _and_ his horribly tone-deaf singing together at the same time. Thankfully, GREGORY interrupted before she could tell him to shut the hell up.

" _I'll take this as my cue to refill your shot glass, Abraham…then perhaps you could be a peach and try_ _ **not**_ _to empty the bar with your singing? Or I'll be forced to cut you off. I mean it as a promise, not a threat."_

Abe chuckled heartily, tears still clinging to his sad blue eyes. "No offense taken, cupcake. Fill her up."

He sniffed loudly and sat the glass down on the bar top with his machine arm, resting his chin inside the duranium fingers (a new metal alloy the used-to-be Russians spliced together with some shit found in the ruins of their country).

He was no longer bruising himself after a few adjustments by the doc. That thought alone inspired a case of the blues somethin' awful. It wasn't like he was ambidextrous before that fuckin' tank blew his arm off with one of its rounds. He was crushing and breaking shit left and right when he first got the damned thing attached. He couldn't touch Sasha for fear he'd hurt her. He hadn't even been able to jerk off for a year, too freaked out about accidentally yanking his dick off or some shit.

"Ha!" Abe burst out with booming laughter now, indeed causing the patrons scattered about the dimly-lit dive bar to look around for the source of the noise. It was pretty late, so there weren't too many folks around, though. Not many could take his obsession with ancient music anyway.

He elbowed Dallas' petit shoulder in amusement with his flesh-and-blood arm (which was still beefy and muscular as fuck), rattling her on her stool.

"No wonder she left my ass…!" He continued laughing in disbelief at his terrifying yet oddly hilarious phobia of de-dicking himself.

"What the hell's so funny?" Dallas frowned at him as Jesus finally walked over carrying stacked racks of steamy, spotless beer glasses. She raised a sharp brow at Abraham, really wanting to just wallow in her frustrated self-pity in peace.

"Are you thinking about jerking off again?" Jesus supplied in passing, giving Abe tell-tale side-eye.

Abe simply nodded and more high-pitched giggles rippled out of him as he pressed his lips and eyes together. His big, broad chest rumbled with the oddly boyish sound as he completely lost it, tears rolling down his cheeks and into his mustache. His laughter made his dog tags clink.

Jesus held back a chuckle of his own, watching his friend with a mixture of sympathy and mirth.

Dallas frowned hard now, her jaw set, pulling rank. "Come on, man. I swear I'll dock your fuckin' pay if you start describing that shit."

Abe wiped his eyes and downed his shot, managing to still his laughter. "Don't worry, darlin'. That's not a thought I wish to share in mixed company."

"Good. And it's _chief_. Or...Dallas. But enough with the 'darlin' and 'cupcake' bullshit, alright?"

Abe gave her a salute with his machine arm. "Yes ma'am. _Damn_ , you are crankier than Rick 'Beardo' Grimes tonight, you don't mind me observin'." He joked, referring to their currently full-bearded, kinda crazy, perpetually depressed captain as he leaned over toward her. He gave her a grin that said he was onto her prickly front. "What's got yer tail in a tizzy, boss?"

Dallas blinked at him, rolling her eyes. She couldn't help an entertained smirk at his casual sexism. Some things would never change. And yet _everything_ had.

Jesus watched from his position stacking the clean glasses next to the liquor rack underneath the holoscreen. His keen eyes remained on Abe and Dallas as he leaned at an angle, stacking the glasses without needing to see them. This was his place, and he knew every crevice of it. Including his patrons.

Dallas had become one of his regulars, and he had a hunch about what was bothering her. But she never talked unless she really needed to unlike Abe, so he usually left well enough alone until she was ready.

"Oh you know…" Dallas muttered as she watched GREGORY silently pour her half a shot with the automated 'handy bartender' arm that rolled back and forth attending to empty glasses wherever it sensed them.

Jesus knew she liked to drink her liquor slow. Really allow the malaise to set in good. She was a professional brooder. Only one man had anything on her, and that man was currently giving her a huge headache, every damned day. And worrying Jesus, of course.

"Just the usual. My precinct captain is losing his damned mind and every time I turn around there's a new walker tech product hitting the market." She downed her half a shot. "Oh yeah…" she hissed as the liquid burned down her throat. "And I got kicked out of Command and saddled with _you_ mutinous assholes for five years while my city turns into a political warzone. Everything's just peachy keen, jelly bean."

Abe furrowed his bushy eyebrows for a beat, but said nothing. Instead he sighed hard and raised his empty shot glass. She raised hers and they clinked. "Touché, chief. Tou-fuckin'- _ché_."

They both sat back and marveled mutely at the last few years' tectonic shift.

Dallas Watson was no longer chief of security at Skyscraper Command. She had now been the Chief Peacekeeper of all the precincts in the Alexandria Safe Zone for going on six years. Over the heads (and to the lingering ire) of Rick Grimes, Tyreese Williams and a dozen other precinct captains with quite a bit more time in the field under their belts, especially before the end of the territory wars when everything was still so unstable. She was an academic, according to them. A rookie. A former pencil pusher who'd gotten used to the good life up in the T-District. Hell, maybe they were right. Maybe she _didn't_ belong.

It wasn't like she had begged for the job. This had been Monroe's permanent decree. Voted into law by the Colonies. The reputation of the peacekeepers had been going downhill since GATUS tossed a wrecking ball into their lives, and to make things worse, there was also infighting.

Dallas had been in this new gig for five years and some change, and it felt like an eternity. The political blowback alone was astronomical. There was a lot of uproar, the peacekeepers were threatening to unionize and that threat had only grown stronger and more insistent with each passing year. As the people were becoming more and more reliant on walker tech, hybrids were more and more common and came in all shapes, colors and combos now. Rights and privileges were being argued over and over again as Monroe and the Smiths grew stronger and more influential.

Monroe was now President of the United Colonies. Smith was her second in command. Along with all the other Smiths. Their eyes watched everything, COMPANION™ programs were enacted into law as mandatory for all citizens of Safe Zone City. And Dallas didn't believe for one second that they planned to stop there.

She was torn between trying to calm the raging fires within the peacekeeping community with her support and keeping them in line with her bogus authority so they could continue keeping the city safe.

The Gates of Hell's leader was growing more volatile and confident. His intentions more and more ominous. His 'citizens' no longer wished to remain an outlawed dumpster heap for the dregs of humanity, locked in a power struggle with machine-kind, tossing themselves into Negan's fire pit for the world's entertainment.

Riots were breaking out over there, and Dallas feared they'd start spilling over the border if Monroe continued to blanch at the political crescendo. Negan was vying for more power - a seat at the table in the United Colonies. He was the leader of some of the worst beings in the world, but he was making a lot of noise lately, and he was being heard. Not just in his neck of the woods, either. All over what was left of the world. Among 'citizens' just like his. Murderers. Outlaws. Scum.

Something was brewing. It was gonna come to a head sooner or later. The uber-paranoia of the Powers That Be was ironically exacerbating the problem. And they stubbornly refused to see it. Preferring to ensconce themselves in a steel fortress of spiraling towers and sentient machines.

And all the while, Dallas was watching her best man grow more and more detached from reality. The only man who could help her put a stop to this, or at least some kind of resistance worth a damn. He just could not seem to shake Michonne Snow's ghost. None of them could.

Not only that, but Maggie Greene (the next in line after Michonne, now running her own precinct since Tobin's death) was slipping, too. She'd been increasingly sullen and withdrawn for years already, but she'd started calling out 'sick' a lot the last few weeks.

It was all one big steaming pile of shit. A goddamned mess. Dallas had no idea how she was gonna clean it all up and right the ship with virtually no one in this stinkin' city she could trust.

Abe knew it. So did Jesus. Hell, everyone in the place was there to numb the anxiety the last few years had wrought since the destruction (and reconstruction) of Skyscraper Command tower. One of the reasons Rovia's only really displayed the fish tank or old re-runs of sports games from back in the day through the archives. The political news was running nonstop over holoscreens across the city these days.

Jesus finished stacking his glasses and sighed, walking over to stand in front of Dallas at the bar.

Abe had shuffled off to take a leak once she'd trailed off, settling back down into her own tense thoughts, staring at her empty glass again.

In the background, the song changed. Another in a long line of Ford's requested "Sad Sack Of Shit" tracks. This one more upbeat, but no less sappy. A song by one of his favorite groups, Thin Lizzy: ' _Running Back'_.

"Rick isn't doing any better, is he?"

Her eyes slowly rose to his and she shook her head, mutely. Defeatedly.

Jesus took a deep breath and poured them both a full shot. Since his divorce, the man in question had stopped coming around the bar with the others, only appearing once and awhile by himself late at night. Eventually, he stopped coming altogether, preferring to drink by himself at home these days.

It troubled Jesus greatly. While he usually preferred to stay out of people's personal lives outside of these rusty old walls, Rick was different. _Michonne_ had been different. He knew the loss had hooked into his old friend deeply, dragging him down, and it didn't appear to be letting him go anytime soon.

Jesus felt it, himself. He could never _truly_ know how Rick suffered, but he knew how much Michonne meant to _him_ , and it was palpable.

Rick was becoming increasingly reclusive. His relationship with his wife virtually radio silent as she disappeared further up the ranks at Skyscraper Command and his reputation slowly began to transform into the lore of a bygone era. His were kids caught in the middle - Carl about to enter training at Command Academy and Judith already being scouted from afar. His leadership was on autopilot. He was retreating further and further from his family - big and little F. As was Maggie, it seemed. The death toll from the GATUS incident had hit those two hardest.

"I'm losing him." Dallas uttered, referring to Rick, rubbing her face with exhaustion as Jesus slid her glass back her way. "I'm losing them all. They don't trust me…" she scoffed and sipped her whiskey. "Can't say I blame them."

"But you're _needed_ , chief. This city needs you and The Family more than ever. It _needs_ Rick Grimes." Jesus frowned at her, now gripping his own glass against the bar top. His passionate blue eyes bore into her deep, pensive brown ones. "And you _will_ figure this out. I have faith in you."

Dallas shook her head, feeling almost ready to quit and go be a cat lady. She was running out of gas.

"There just aren't enough people left in the world to start another war, Jesus."

"I'm not talking about war, Dallas. I'm talking about _revolution_." They stared at each other as his meaning washed over her. "The best way to honor Glenn and Michonne's memory is to _fight_ for what's right. So don't give up. Please."

She nodded slowly, smiling sadly in appreciative silence.

His kind, encouraging smile turned into a sly grin.

"Would it cheer you up at all to know that I believe Abe has a bit of a crush on you?"

Dallas fixed him with a look. She highly doubted it. The man was so deep in his feels over his ex girlfriend, he was a blubbering mess. Jesus wasn't funny.

"Ew. Nope. And how the hell do you figure _that_ , anyway?"

She was curious, despite herself. It was something to muse over for a few seconds to avoid thinking about the depressing state of affairs waiting for her outside this dive bar.

" _Lieutenant Ford's heart rate increases and his temperature rises whenever his attention is aimed directly at you, chief. Also, he severs eye contact a full point-eighteen seconds faster than usual when you two are conversing."_

GREGORY answered matter-of-factly before Jesus could.

"Thank you, GREGORY. That was very...thorough. And creepy." Jesus sighed, rolling his eyes.

" _Adjusting my discretionary settings now, Jesus…"_

Rovia's owner and his new regular laughed, just as Abe came sauntering back over to the bar, crooning along with the song in his terribly sappy warble.

 _'Cause I'd come running…_

 _Oh, I'd come running back to you again!_

 _Yes I'd come running..._

 _I'd come running back to you again!_

 _Oh, la-la, la-la, la-la, la-laaah!_

 _Oh, my-my, my-my, my-my…_

 _Oh, now-now, now-now, now-now..._

 _Aw, I_ _ **miss**_ _that girl!_

* * *

 _ **[Classified Archive, President Deanna Monroe]**_

 **…**

 _ **Skyscraper Command Tower 2/Level 1..**_

 _ **Restricted File Code: SNOW...**_

 _ **3/21/2077..**_

 **…**

 **23:08**

High above the fog of the city, sitting in her humongous office, staring out through the wall-to-wall viewers, President Deanna Monroe blew smoke out through her nostrils in silence.

She watched the flyers zooming past the tower down below. The road vehicles rumbling along the sky bridges. Everything she'd built. Still standing.

She was waiting for news.

News that would give this city hope. News that could guarantee a steady rise in her slipping poll numbers and renewed confidence in her by the United Colonies.

She was waiting for her right hand man, the Smiths.

She smoked her cigarette, the haze filling the air around her.

A beautifully feathered owl sat on a perch behind her, its head turning this way and that, its large eyes blinking every few seconds. To the naked eye, there was nothing unusual about it, except maybe the eyes in its head, which were much more than eyes. It looked, smelled, and behaved like the real thing, except that it wasn't. Not truly. Like a lot of the plant and animal life they'd managed to resurrect from extinction since the world began to rot, like the walkers that had once nearly subsumed it.

The (very expensive) owl was one of the REPLICANTS™ Dr. Jones had invented years ago. This one was state of the art, a new model.

Before, only the endangered and extinct species that the planet still depended on could be REPLICATED.

The process was excruciatingly complex, and dangerous if done incorrectly. Sentience in this form was only stable up to a certain capacity. Perfectly replicating a life force was no child's play.

Once this got out, black market REPLICANTS™ wouldn't be uncommon, but Command (i.e. the Smiths, with enforced help from the peacekeepers) would have a handle on them. Punishment for black market REPLICATION would be swift and merciless. It was The Gates of Hell, _The Grid_ , or working in the machine construction or walker disposal factories. Hard labor or death. No mercy.

Given the series of missteps, setbacks and outright disasters he'd had over the years, though, no one thought Dr. Jones would _ever_ be ready to REPLICATE humans. No one thought it was safe enough to even attempt, including Jones.

But President Monroe wasn't everyone.

And she didn't want him to REPLICATE just _any_ human.

Her gamble with GATUS had ironically been the key to her success in nabbing the presidency. The destruction and death toll had brought the city together like never before.

But now, the blowback was starting to catch up. She had undermined the effectiveness of the peacekeepers - of The Family, specifically - in her bid for re-election, promising that she could keep this city safer and more secure than ever, _her_ way. Now that she'd gotten the people on track with her agenda, they were restless for results. They didn't feel safe. They were confused, anxious, and even downright fearful at times about granting machine or hybrid kind more rights.

And likewise, her partially and non-human constituents yearned for representation, protection, equality, a voice. Not to mention the increasingly sinister threat from Negan and The Gates of Hell.

Fear was a powerful - and _dangerous_ \- gambling tool.

If she was going to maintain control of the future of this city, and with it the safety of mankind, she was going to have to show these people that she was strong, and the ASZ was an _impenetrable_ fortress.

To do that, she needed to be radical. She needed to make headlines. She needed a miracle.

So, as was her style, she was going to kill a shitload of birds with one beautifully innovative stone.

If, of course, the Smiths brought her the good news she'd been hoping for for five long years.

Speaking of which, she was growing impatient. Her REPLICANT™ owl hooted disinterestedly from its perch, its unusual, pewter-toned eyes gleaming.

"President Monroe." Smith One's ever-calm, carefully enunciated words finally broke through the gloom. "My apologies...for keeping you waiting."

Deanna blew out another puff of smoke and turned around in her chair to put the cigarette out.

She saw six Smiths standing spread out behind her desk, looking identically creepy and menacing.

The Smiths came and went as they pleased. She had long since stopped getting chills whenever they snuck up on her like that. They got the job done. That was all that mattered. That was what closed-minded assholes didn't understand about machines, hybrids, what-have-you. They weren't a problem - until they were. And then, well you took care of the problem like any other. She didn't understand why people like Rick Grimes couldn't get that through their thick heads.

Lucky for her, Grimes was usually two sheets to the wind these days and soon would be out of her hair if he kept up this goth Grizzly Adams routine.

"Don't sweat it. I've waited five years, what's a few more hours?" She replied sarcastically to Smith One, tossing the cigarette into the small waste incinerator inside her large, black marble desk. She got down to business. "What have you got for me?"

Smith One smirked, his black shades reflecting the golden lights atop the city towers through her viewers. The rest of the Smiths followed suit, their mouths turning up together, perfectly synchronized. A person with less fortified nerves would blanch at this strange ass behavior, but Monroe was used to it. They'd been doing a lot of good, important work together, her and the Smiths.

A little creepiness, she could handle.

"Dr. Jones is ready to go through with the REPLICATION process, Madam President." He raised an eyebrow as he reported this news to her confidently, taking a step forward and unbuttoning his suit jacket at the waist - the only thing singling him out from his army of indentical Smiths. "Sorry for the delay. He was difficult to flush out, but we managed to...entice him. He is...quite annoyingly reclusive. And _teeming_ with the stink of human sentiment, despite his supposed brilliance. I _almost_ had to threaten to destroy his precious android."

Deanna scoffed, rolling her eyes. She knew that meant he had _absolutely_ threatened to destroy the andriod. Maybe even without provocation, knowing him.

Again, Smith smirked, also finding it amusing. So did his posse of clones.

She leaned forward and folded her tiny hands over the cold surface of her desk, nodding with satisfaction. And relief.

"You're getting him set up with everything he needs, correct?" She asked, grabbing another cigarette from the beautifully painted, hand-carved box in one of her drawers. She lit it, here shrewd eyes raising to examine his dark shades.

"He refuses to leave his...hovel...to work in one of our state of the art labs." Replied Smith Three in the background.

"However, we have seen to it that he has every luxury his borderline schizophrenic heart desires." Smith One finished, brushing imaginary lint from the arm of his black suit jacket.

President Monroe hated it when they finished each other's sentences.

She rolled her eyes. "Spare me the gory details. And will just _one_ of you talk at a time, please?" She snapped. "When will he be ready to start? Ball park."

Dr. Jones was a crackpot, but he was brilliant. He was a sentimental, mental old genius, and he could be radicalized if they weren't careful. But she was just as confident as Smith One was that they could keep him in line.

Smith One smiled broadly, taking off his glasses finally. Behind him, the rest of the Smiths stood at rest as he tucked the shades into his inner jacket pocket.

"Ball park? He's _already_ started, Madam President. The adamantium was delivered to his doorstep less than two hours ago. He has _everything_ he needs now. No more stalling. I've instructed Smiths Eight and Nine to oversee his process and report to me when he has it done. Then you'll get to meet your newborn."

Deanna couldn't help returning his smile, hers growing quite a bit broader as she puffed on her cigarette, her elbows now propped up on the desk.

So. Captain Michonne Snow was about to return from the dead. It was going to be international news, and it was going to hit _big_. If they played their cards right, her bold, innovative thinking would set the world's eyes to _her_ to guide them through the next twenty years.

It was a hell of a time to be alive.

" _Damn_ , you're good." She gushed shamelessly.

The Smiths folded their hands across their waists, all turning to gaze down at her.

"We know." They replied in unison, ignoring her earlier request.

* * *

 _Written to the musical score of…_

'Goner', K.I. Theory

* * *

 _ **[Personal Archive, Dr. Morgan Jones]**_

 **…**

 _ **Olde Town Hotel tower..**_

 _ **Outer-District Border/Level 3..**_

 _ **Restricted File Code: SNOW...**_

 **…**

 **00:15**

Just about as high up - in a tower much older and farther away from the Skyscraper, in what was on the surface a nearly-dilapidated hotel, Dr. Morgan Jones was locked in his meditation room.

The tower was nearly empty except for a cavernous chamber of labs in the west wing on the top floor.

Inside, a treasure trove sat out in plane sight for anyone to get lost in. The cave drawings of one of the only geniuses left in the world. And probably for a long time to come. Virtually every child born after the peace treaty that ended the survivor wars had grown up knowing the name of Dr. Morgan Jones. If his name had not already been cemented in history, it was about to be.

Everywhere one looked, just about, there was evidence of his tinkering. Tools, bits and bobs, fascinators, screws, body parts, old-fashioned pen-to-paper sketches and portable holoscreen pads containing pages and pages of dictated notes.

Plastic work tarps hung all over the place, flapping in the wind, dripping with rain water on occasion as spring melted into summer again, the old cyclical habits of the earth come to greet them like always.

Wind swept through the echoing, aging halls, constantly carrying leaves and insects and dust and dirt across the beautifully tiled or carpeted flooring.

Some of the old furniture from the seventies remained scattered about, covered in moth-eaten sheets or sitting in rot, unattended or even thought about for decades.

Dr. Jones' homemade bots and original COMPANIONS™ (before they were developed into formless computer programs that only existed in netspace) roamed about independently. Carrying out "house work" for the doctor - like acting as his assistants, attending his scant laundry, and fixing his meals - while he tinkered ceaselessly in his penthouse lab.

Now that lab was being guarded by two menacing, mute Smiths.

They waited impatiently for the good, brilliant doctor to stop stalling and get to work REPLICATING the deceased Captain Michonne Snow.

Across the room from where they stood guard, Dr. Jones' beloved android DATA sat just as mutely and vigilantly at the doctor's chaotic desk. DATA was one of Dr. Jones' original prototypes before the possibility of full human REPLICATION was even a pipe dream, the only such being in existence in the entire world, and, incidentally, his only friend.

"What is taking the good doctor so long, android?" Growled Smith Nine, frowning behind his glasses.

DATA observed and catalogued the way the Smiths stood perfectly still except to move their mouths to speak. Like he did. They were fascinating beings. Parts human. More parts human than DATA would ever be. If Dr. Jones were not so hostile toward - and, indeed, terrified of - them, DATA would be very much inclined to study them. Hybrids were a long-time hobby of his, having been a witness to Dr. Jones' work with machines (and compassion for mankind) over the long years since he was created.

"My name is DATA." He corrected Smith Nine with his default cordial tone, tilting his head slightly, his palms resting flat on his thighs as he sat with perfect posture in his usual chair. "And, Dr. Jones is performing a ritual before he begins the REPLICATION."

His brows performed the motion of frowning and he lowered his yellow gaze from the Smith who'd spoken, processing.

"That is to say, he is mentally preparing himself to do what is, I am sure you are aware, very complex work. Or, as some humans would call it...he is meditating. This part of his process should be well documented in the cloud archives. And it is necessary, since it is work that has not yet been attempted before, and the doctor requires perfect focus if this is to succeed."

DATA pursed his lips and raised his brows high, raising his eyes to meet Smith Nine's covered ones.

The Smith tilted his head, turning to exchange looks with his clone. They turned back to DATA in unison, speaking simultaneously: "Tell him his time is up."

DATA frowned again, but offered no protest. "As you wish."

He stood up from his chair, walking over to the locked door where Dr. Jones held his meditation room.

The silver-skinned android raised his hand to knock on the door, but it opened before he had a chance to perform the action, and Dr. Jones appeared. Still looking pensive, DATA cataloged, but calmer than just two hours, twenty-eight minutes ago when the Smiths had first arrived.

He was ready. DATA had memorized this exact expression and demeanor (and all of its variations) over the years. He stepped back to allow Dr. Jones to pass. The shorter, balding black man patted DATA on the shoulder empathetically, as if to tell him not to fret (even though DATA was incapable of feeling emotion) as he walked out into the lab at large again.

He came to stand near the huge construction chamber, filled with the bio-fluid the Smiths had delivered personally, along with the adamantium that would be made into the skeleton of the long-dead and newly 'resurrected' Michonne Snow.

God protect her soul. Wherever it was.

Should he do as Monroe and the Smiths were commanding him, and perform a miracle, there was a chance he could actually _replicate human life_. Or...goddamn close enough. It was a thrilling and terrifying possibility. He wanted to dive into it at the same time that he wanted no part of it.

If this technology got into the wrong hands…

"The clock is ticking, doctor." Smith Eight uttered coldly. He tapped his watch, smirking. "The REPLICATION begins _now_. Or there will be consequences. I don't believe I'll need to remind you that should you call my bluff...well...the results will not be pretty."

"You don't have to threaten me." Dr. Jones drawled in his gentle, if a bit haunted Southern accent, wiping off his eyeglasses and placing them back onto his world-weary face. "I don't expect you boys to understand, but this isn't fun and games, here. I make _one_ mistake...there's no tellin' what kinda monster comes outta that chamber."

"Smiths Eight and Nine - indeed, _all_ of the Smiths, along with President Monroe - are well aware of the risks, doctor." DATA supplied, tilting his head as he processed his hypothesis. "I do not believe that is the concern driving their actions at present."

"How right you are, _DATA_." Smith Nine growled mockingly, grinning like a cheshire cat.

DATA failed to grasp the humor in his statement.

Dr. Jones sighed hard and nodded sadly at DATA. "I know, DATA. I know...why don't you go and run a final diagnostic on the positronic brainwave activity for me? I don't want any surprises when we start. There's _no stoppin' it_ once the process begins."

DATA nodded. "Understood."

He knew the doctor meant that if they miscalculated _anything at all_ , they wouldn't be able to stop the creation of the REPLICANT. It would be like terminating a newborn mid-birth. The results would not be pretty. So they would have to go on creating something without any idea of how unstable the results would be.

Worst case scenario, her neuro net processor would become overwhelmed and fry her circuits, killing her within hours of consciousness. Or...she could simply be born without the ability to evolve, and be nothing more than a vessel, mastering only the most basic functions, perhaps not even as advanced as DATA.

The Smiths watched mutely as DATA did as asked, crossing over to the large, glass encasement where the prototype for Michonne's brain floated in biofluid. He activated the holoscanner and began to check the brain for any signs of abnormal or seemingly "glitchy" activity.

They had meticulously pieced together sentience, 'memories', emotions, and every nuanced detail they could think of to form the replication of real, human consciousness. Then they downloaded it all into this positronic brain, a model decades more advanced than DATA's. It was partly organic, grown, with a neuro pathways and blood cells and artificial synaptic response. But also powered, given "life", by a neuro net processor, encased in indestructible adamantium; the first scraps of it Dr. Jones had managed to scrounge up when it was first invented by the Japanese. The 'ghost' in the shell. As close to the real thing as science - not divine creation - could develop.

Dr. Jones had spent virtually his entire life dreaming of this. But now that it was time, he felt sick to his stomach with guilt. And fear.

After running the diagnostic and performing basic tests to confirm it, DATA ended he holoscanner program and returned to Dr. Jones' side. He was powering up the construction chamber, checking its systems.

"The positronic brain is in perfect condition, doctor." DATA reported matter-of-factly. "The memories we pieced together from archival footage, personal history reports and character witness accounts seemed to have...well…" DATA frowned again, searching his net archives for the appropriate language to explain his observation. "They appear to be DATA-linking independently. Bonding. Piecing together missing information. Forming more complex neural pathways. In essence, the prototype has indeed achieved sentience on it's own, as you hypothesized."

Something the doctor had been unable to do when he created DATA. But with DATA's help, they had cracked it.

Dr. Jones paused his work, gazing over at DATA with pure, unbridled hope. "Go on, DATA. What do you think about all that?" He encouraged; always pushing DATA to form conclusions of his own the way any real human would.

DATA paused for a beat before finally surmising:

"My summation is that these new micro programs we've infused with the positronic brain will only grow more efficient at bonding - once Captain Snow's REPLICANT is fully operational and interacting with humans, especially those from her past."

He took in a deep, 'contemplative breath', as he was programmed to, meeting the doctor's gaze again 'thoughtfully'.

"In other words...she will become more 'human' as time passes, as I myself was meant to. Though quite a bit more successfully, and at much more rapid a rate than I could ever achieve. In all actuality, she may even become indistinguishable from the real Captain Snow.

"With our success in achieving spontaneous sentience, the likelihood of this experiment actually working has increased exponentially, Dr. Jones. Congratulations."

"Don't congratulate me yet," Jones demured, rubbing his bald head as he resumed his work.

It was time to make the shell.

It was time to make her body. Her vessel. His child.

Dr. Jones rolled up his sleeves as the Smiths watched, crossing over to his bank of computers and holoscreens, plucking out the program he needed to initiate. "You fellas believe in good luck charms or anyhin'?" He casually tossed at the Smiths over his shoulder as his fingers flew across the holoscreen.

"Sentiment." They said in unison, their voices equally disgusted.

"Luck is an emotional red herring. What matters is _action_ , doctor." Smith Nine added.

DATA frowned. "Though I have not found myself agreeing with the Smiths since our acquaintance began, doctor, in this, I must. Are you ready to begin the REPLICATION?"

Dr. Jones turned to gaze up at the tank full of biofluid, sending silent prayers to whatever was left of the heavens. Finally, he nodded. "JENNY?"

" _Yes, doctor. I'm here."_

His COMPANION™ JENNY answered, rousing herself from sleep mode at his voice command.

Morgan found solace and confidence in the voice of his late wife, given to his third model in the COMPANION™ series, the one that started the boom. "Initiate REPLICATION program SNOW.001, if you would, please."

" _Yes, doctor. Initiating REPLICATION program...standby…"_

DATA took over monitoring the holoscreen data streams as Dr. Jones oversaw one of his bots removing the positronic brain from its secured container and carrying it over to the construction chamber. As he walked alongside it, both Smiths raised their heads in unison to watch the adamantium skeleton being lowered into the tank from above.

The skeleton - now merely thin wisps of virtually indestructible metal that formed the shape of a human body - that would become Michonne Snow's newly REPLICATED form.

Dr. Jones deposited the positronic brain into the chamber and watched as mechanical arms, controlled by JENNY, carefully took hold of it. They brought the brain in contact with the skeleton, attaching it to the spine, and then the microscopic bots inside the biofluid began to assemble the rest.

The process had begun.

All eyes remained on the chamber as the microscopic bots, driven by millions of streams of meticulous programming that it took DATA's positronic brain to help code, created life from artificial sentience.

They constructed a skull to encase the brain.

The organic bone matter was created and fortified along the entire adamantium skeleton - skull to toes.

Next, blood vessels were rapidly constructed and attached, bonded to form the layers upon layers of connective tissue, fatty cells, glands, follicles and hypodermic matter. All along the body, this process happened before their eyes as if out of thin air, as millions of microbots worked tirelessly.

Michonne's fingers formed.

Her nose and lips.

Her breasts.

Her spine shaped and constructed from the perfectly preserved data they'd purged from both cloud and personal archives. Every curve, length, span, and imperfection painstakingly recreated.

The biofluid began to drain and fill again, bringing with it new microbots programmed with a different purpose.

These bots spun REPLICANT™ Snow's dermis and epidermis, first white then pale pink, then dark, smooth, nearly flawless brown. The bumps and scars from her human life perfectly replicated across every inch of her.

The microbots spun Snow's legendary locs from the follicles they'd constructed - thick, coily, twisted plumes of dark hair drawn out, made real, now floating in the biofluid as the bots completed their work.

She was made eyeballs. Lashes. Teeth. Nails.

Ovaries, kidneys and other internal organs were being created on the inside as the group in the dilapidated lab watched the perfect, beautiful creature forming before their eyes on the outside.

" _The REPLICATION process is almost complete, doctor."_

JENNY informed them sweetly.

" _Awaiting your voice command to begin the final activation sequence."_

"'Activation' is such a small word for what we're witnessing here, don't you think, JENNY?" Dr. Jones asked, staring in awe and fear at what was happening in his bio-chamber.

" _I'll take_ _ **your**_ _word for it, doctor."_

He chuckled. He had programmed her to possess some of the personality traits of his beloved, too.

His entire body was riddled with chills as the face of his newborn became obvious to him.

Michonne Snow's face. No longer a hologram frozen in time. Now real, made of flesh and blood. And much, much more.

It was the most beautiful face he had ever seen.

She floated in the fluid upside down. Eyes closed. Locs swaying this way and that. Still a lifeless vessel until he initiated the final sequence. The spark.

And then...he would be as close to God as any man had ever dared to tread.

He was terrified.

Standing at the mouth of a crossroads. In one direction, the gates of heaven. In the other, the gates of hell.

"Doctor…?" DATA probed from behind him. "Are you ready?"

"You had _better_ be, Dr. Jones." Added one of the Smiths in his trademark threatening, though somehow still sing-song tone of voice. "Enough stalling, if you don't mind."

Morgan snapped himself out of his trance and nodded firmly. He took a deep breath and steeled himself. It was now or never. He had no choice. Or so he believed. "Yes. Initiate the final sequence, JENNY. Thank you, DATA."

JENNY silently did as he commanded.

The microbots finished their work swathing Snow's body in organic tissue and she was now perfectly formed. Ready to be 'activated'. They paused in unison, JENNY sent the final command code through them all, and finally they began to emit the electric current that would shock life into the vessel.

 _ **Boom.**_ The bots shocked her.

Her body jerked and twitched in the biofluid. Her eyes remained closed.

 _ **Boom.**_ The bots shocked her again.

Jerking movement again. Still no signs of life.

"Come on... _come on…_ " Dr. Jones muttered under his breath, his hope now overwhelming his fear. "Open your eyes, baby girl…I know you're in there, Michonne..."

Inside, the electric pulse instigated a series of positronic responses. Synapses fired. Netspace reached out and came online. The cloud began to register. An explosion of activity occurred, and finally...

"I am detecting a...faint pulse, doctor." Informed DATA, monitoring his holoscreens.

JENNY amplified the pulse on her surround sound.

 _Bump-bump... Bump-bump... Bump-bump..._

Dr. Jones smiled wide, tears of joy and sadness streaming down his cheeks. It was there. Her heart was beating. She was alive.

" _REPLICATION process complete, Dr. Jones."_

JENNY reported.

"Well done, Dr. Jones...we must admit, we are impressed." Said the Smiths, gazing at Snow's perfect body now twitching and contracting, as though in the middle of a fitful dream.

"And what happens...now?" Added Smith Eight.

Dr. Jones sighed, walking over to the chamber to rest a hand against the reinforced glass. He gazed up at his creation.

"Now...we wake her up. Reintroduce her to the world." He turned back to them, wanting to impress them with the gravity of this situation. "This isn't gonna to be a walk in the park, gentlemen."

"Something you've said to us before, doctor. Nor have we forgotten." Smith Nine agreed, walking forward to stand next to him by the biochamber. "But she is a _perfect_ replication, is she not?"

Morgan hesitated, but nodded, conceding. "She is. I've spent years on her...she's exceeded my expectations already, and her eyes aren't even open yet…"

Smith Nine gave that monstrous grin again. " _Good._ Then let's rouse the sleeping beauty, shall we?"

* * *

 _ **[Booting]**_

 _ **[Personal Archive, REPLICANT™ Snow.001]**_

 **…**

 _ **File Code: SNOW Status..**_

 _ **Status..**_

 _ **Inconclusive..**_

 _ **...**_

Darkness.

And a voice.

 _ **Michonne? Can you hear me…?**_

 _Yes,_ the response came unbidden in her positronic mind.

But this was not the voice she had been expecting to hear.

There was no thought but one. It had no name, no image, nothing but a searing stimulation that she felt through her body.

Her body.

There was a body here. She was inside of it. No longer floating aimlessly in netspace.

 _ **Captain Michonne Snow, do you hear me? Open your eyes.**_

Pain.

Pain…?

Not pain of the flesh. But a more ethereal kind of pain, radiating through this vessel like the currents that sparked life inside it. Words, images, sensations, histories and faces began to surge through the bursting neural pathways that were still forming in her newborn consciousness.

 _ **Wake up, child…please.**_

Said the voice.

 _ **It's alright, Michonne. You're safe…**_

She felt someone touching her. But this sensation, too, was unexpected. Someone...some other touch...some other voice...where was he?

He…?

 _Yes_. A 'he' that sent currents of sensation shooting through her, so vivid and overwhelming she felt she was floating on energy surges in netspace. Netspace that she could now _feel_ \- it was infinite. No borders, corners, or crevices. A vast vacuum of data.

She found languages and technologies and philosophies and histories. She found other faces, faces that seemed familiar. Music. Music, music, over and over again, music?

She found the face. Her pulse and heartbeat began to accelerate.

Pain. And another sensation. Something ten times more intense than the 'pain'. Something...comforting? She had no name for it. She had no name for anything.

Except that face.

 _ **Michonne, please, if you can hear me, squeeze my hand…**_

The voice called out again, and she felt a part of this vessel being caressed, then squeezed by another, someone with pleasantly cool, soft hands.

Was Michonne her name?

 _Yes,_ she thought. _I have a name. And it is Michonne. Snow..._

And finally, she opened her eyes.

A white, blinding light, and the source of the urgent words rousing her to consciousness, staring down at her as her cybernetic eyes adjusted to the light.

A kind face. Not frightening.

But not the face she was expecting.

Not the face that sent the currents of some intense, unnamed 'emotions' cascading through her.

She opened her mouth and spoke the name that belonged to the face she had been expecting to see.

"Rick…?"

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Next up…**

 **Bearded, reclusive Rick Grimes wakes up to find his bleak world tossed on its head yet again.**

 _ **Michonne is alive.**_ **And even more incredible than ever.**

 **We see the Grimes family's day-to-day.**

 **Plus, how The Family will react to the unexpected return of one of their beloved friends.**

 **And coming soon…**

 **Maggie has done something that could get her banished to** _ **The Grid**_ **.**

 **We meet up with Daryl's blue ass big brother Merle, Carol Peletier, Lenny Nero, and Negan in the Gates of Hell.**

 **PS. This was really fun to write, but please think of it as more of the 'fiction' side of 'science-fiction' than anything, LOL. Culled together from sci-fi lore of all stripes, fused with a hefty dose of Kendra's cray-ass imagination.**

 **Once again, you'll find inspirational visuals and a soundtrack on my tumblr (kendrawriter) and feel free to inbox me here or there with any Q's (provided they aren't spoilers).**

 **THANK YOU!**

 **-Kendra**


	7. the dream walking, part i

_Written to the musical score of…_

' _Blade Runner Blues', Vangelis (Blade Runner)_

* * *

 _ **[Booting]**_

 _ **[Safe Zone City Cloud Archive]**_

 **…**

 _ **Rick Grimes' Apartment Tower/Garage Level 8...**_

 _ **4/01/2077..**_

 **…**

 **02:36**

Peacekeeper Captain Rick Grimes powered down his flyer, watching mutely as its systems blinked out one by one, the holoscreen fading to sleep mode.

When everything had gone dead and silent, he had to force himself not to linger. He always wanted to.

Even though he had his Dodge Charger-like flyer repaired and inspected several times over since he'd finally gotten her back the year after that fateful morning - no matter how much time passed it seemed, he always wanted to look over at the empty passenger seat. That perfectly-shaped dip of the bucket seat that _she_ used to fit down into like was made for her was still there.

As if waiting for her to climb in next to him and settle down into the curve of those springs again.

Any day now.

But of course, Rick knew that was only his demon, thrashing about in the dark, where he kept it locked up tight. His snarling, untrustworthy, menacing despair. Still going strong, after all these years.

Rick forced himself not to look over at the passenger seat tonight. He climbed wearily out of the flyer without a backward glance.

After yet another in a recent series of overnight shifts, he felt just about dead on his feet. His gun and machete weighing him down from thirteen hours on duty, he began drifting in his heavy boots through the garage level of his tower. There was no sound echoing through the garage but Rick's shuffling boots and his dog tags jangling faintly against his chest under his black t-shirt.

He scratched at his by now _very_ full, very prominent beard as he made it to the elevator lift that would jet him up to the three bedroom, two level condo he now shared part time with Carl, Judith, and their cat, Nostradamus.

As he got onto the elevator and gave the voice command for his floor, he stood as rigid, weary, and silent as he'd been for going on five years, now.

Rick Grimes had two default modes these days: either stoic and withdrawn or overprotective and paranoid. The Family had learned the hard way plenty since GATUS which Rick was more likely to appear in certain circumstances. For a while, however, he'd put them all through quite a bit of worry, fearing he'd gone off the deep end for good.

With some effort (not to mention being forced to be in the present to deal with his divorce and arranging shared custody of his kids), he came back. But only just enough to function and see after his family. Truth be told, the formerly revered peacekeeper was on autopilot most of the time. Survival mode. It was just safer that way. For everyone.

Rick stood bathed in pale beams of light rising and disappearing as the levels passed him by, his lifeless blue eyes focused on nothing in particular. He simply waited for a reason to command his body to move again, and then he would count the steps until he was inside his apartment.

A routine he'd been performing every day and night since the day part of himself died with the love of his life.

The despondent peacekeeper made it, meandering much like a walker, down the hall.

He paused before calling for VAL to open the door.

Knowing her, Jessie would be waiting up inside. She'd been doing that a lot, more and more since the divorce was final. She cooked sometimes and had slumber parties with the kids others. She cut their hair for him, too. Helped him navigate some of Jude's growing pains, along with the moods and whims of his ex wife. Always with the glint of hope and empathy in her eyes.

Rick was grateful for her help. He needed her, especially in the beginning. She sort of kept Lori off his back, as he suspected Lori would rather see him shack up with _anyone_ than continue wallowing in self-induced misery over a woman she'd once hated. His kids liked Jessie enough, like a big sister or a cool (if occasionally fawning) aunt.

But like their father, they missed Michonne. It hurt him no end that they'd only known her as his friend, nothing more. Though they of course could see that she'd meant a lot to him and he was taking the loss hard, they didn't really know the whole story, and he couldn't bring himself to tell them.

Not yet. Maybe not ever.

Rick took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to walk into.

He was grateful to Jessie, but he didn't know how much more of her futile hope and devotion he could take. He didn't want to hurt her; he didn't want to allow his demon to rage too close to her. She didn't understand, either, not really. They all knew grief in one form or another, and Jessie was a strong, good mother and caregiver for his kids - but she couldn't hold a candle to what he'd lost.

Telling her that in plain English wasn't a fair fight.

But he would if he had to.

Clearing his suddenly dry throat, shifting on his tired feet, Rick rasped: "VAL. I'm home."

" _Welcome back, Rick. I hope your shift went well."_

His government-issued COMPANION™ VAL greeted, immediately opening the door for him.

As was the trend with a lot of the new ones these days (and much to his annoyance), VAL had an English accent, this one along the lines of LIZZY's. Rick missed LIZZY. VAL, he tolerated. Barely.

He tossed a half-answer to her, now stalking into the cool, dark house with relief. "Sure. The kids still up?"

Normal fathers maybe wouldn't have to ask, but Carl and Jude had a nasty habit of finding things to do well into all hours of the night, especially when Ron and Sam were around. Nostradamus wasn't. Probably perched at the foot of someone's bed. Good. Rick and the skinny little black thing didn't exactly get along.

" _Snoring like bear cubs. Judith even skipped her evening ritual, much to my relief. Jessie is downstairs. Ron and Sam will kip here for the night, with your permission."_

Rick nodded stiffly, listening while he took off his gun holster and utility belt, depositing it and his weapons into the invisible safe set in the foyer wall.

His eight-year-old little girl liked to use VAL to hack into the cloud and listen to chatter. Though she never picked up anything more than domestic jabbering, world news and watercooler gossip, she still fancied herself a little sleuth, absorbing far too much geek lore from Eugene and Heath about the 'lost COMPANIONS™'.

He'd already stopped bringing her around to the B-DP when he was working shifts on his turns to watch her. He threatened to make hybrids out of his bull pin boys every other week he felt, but he wasn't surprised that their promise to stop filling her head with that hacker bullshit had gone unheeded.

Grounding her was the opposite of helpful, Lori was indifferent, and didn't feel comfortable talking to Jessie about it like he might've with...Michonne. He was running out of options in his playbook.

Rick scoffed, moving through the dark (VAL was well aware that he preferred the dark, so she avoided turning on the illuminators to light his path).

Judith was headstrong, like her mother, and a born skeptic, like her father. This hacker phase might not end anytime soon, he knew.

He grabbed a cold beer from his fridge and made his way through the dark some more, taking a long, much needed swig. He paused at the top of the stairs leading down to his den (and sleeping quarters, for the most part). Rick called out to VAL again softly:

"You said Jessie's downstairs?"

" _Yes, Rick. I believe she's waiting up...again."_

VAL answered, her disembodied voice sounding somewhat tentative.

He made another in a thousand mental notes to get one of his kids to crack open her settings and dial down her perception for human melodrama. He just needed the facts, not the faux sentiment.

"Thanks." He grunted. "Goodnight, VAL."

VAL heeded his voice command and shifted herself back into sleep mode without another word.

Rick took another swig of beer and exhaled heavily through his nostrils before sauntering as quietly as he could down the stairs in his boots.

Jessie was reclined in his chair, her eyes closed. There was an old fashioned hardcover book in her lap (one from a collection Carl had saved up to buy at auction for Jude's sixth birthday). This one was ' _Wuthering Heights'._ Fuck.

He set his beer down on his cluttered desk, turning to gaze down at her laying there in his usual spot, her face at peace. Her messy blonde ponytail flopped over onto her shoulder as she shifted around in her sleep to get more comfortable. Rick stood still, watching as her eyes blinked open and she finally registered his presence.

"Hey." Was all he could think to offer in greeting. He waited for her to wake up fully.

Being around Jessie these days was like being around a ticking bomb. That hope in her eyes…it was there. Even as she was rising from a nap in the wee hours of the morning.

"Rick. Hey…" she returned his whisper, giving him a slow, lethargic smile as she stretched. "Heath and Eugene finally let you off the hook, huh?"

"Yeah." Rick shifted on his feet, remaining near the desk across the room from her.

"How was your night?"

"I was okay. The usual." He was unsure how to tell her that it had been a long shift, and he was tired, and not really in the mood for company.

"I think I had a bit of a breakthrough with Jude." Jessie's smile turned into a somewhat amused frown as she set the book aside and climbed out of his chair, closing the space between them anyway. "When are you gonna let me get my hands on that beard, Peacekeeper Grimes? Have you seen yourself in a mirror lately? You need a haircut _bad_ , mister."

Rick remained as still as stone as she reached up to glance her fingers across the long brown hair growing out of his face. She was obviously feeling emboldened tonight, though he couldn't understand why.

Nothing had changed. He took a minuscule step back.

"Sorry." Jessie muttered with a sympathetic wince. "The kids are fed up with my meddling. I think I heard one of them call me a 'busy body' today. You're all I have left to fix." Rick tilted his head at her 'joke', still silent, as she realized her poor word choice too late and crushed her eyes shut in embarrassment. "Um, n-not that you _need_ fixing, Rick. Ugh, sorry. That came out wrong."

She laughed nervously, tucking errant blond hairs behind her ears and looking down at her socked feet. She didn't move back out of his personal space, however.

"It's alright, Jessie…" He waited. She lingered, braving another look at his sexy blue eyes. She felt her heart fluttering as he tried to elaborate. He was so cute when he was tongue-tied, god help her. "Thanks for watchin' over the kids for me so late. You don't have to wait up, though. I can't ask you to do that."

"Oh, it's no trouble at all, Rick, really." Jessie shook her head, her ponytail swinging. "I wanted to."

That river of hope in her eyes again, threatening to spill out all over him. He swallowed thickly, now taking his turn to avoid her gaze. "I-I know you did, Jessie, but...the thing is...you still shouldn't."

"Oh." Jessie's face fell and she bit her lip, now slowly crossing her arms to hug herself. As if he'd wounded her with his low, carefully chosen words. Shit. And just like that, everything was on the table. "I'm not even making a dent here, am I?"

Rick still couldn't meet her eyes just yet, but he shook his head, placing his hands on his hips.

"I see. Wow."

He looked up at her, wanting to remind her that he had done everything he could _not_ to lead her on. But somehow, 'all he could' hadn't been enough. She looked deeply disappointed for a beat, practically biting her bottom lip raw, before nodding to no one in particular.

Then her watery eyes locked onto his, and she asked the question he'd been dreading.

"Will I ever…?"

That hope, threatening to spill over again. He needed to extinguish it, for good. He hated himself for it.

Blinking almost imperceptibly, his jaw stiff, his posture as tall and unmovable as he could muster, he shook his head. He wanted to say he was sorry, but he didn't think she'd believe him. Words weren't enough in some situations. This was one of 'em. He just hoped she could see the truth in his eyes. He cared about her, but not the way she wanted him to.

Jessie looked crushed, but stoic. She took a deep breath, trying not to feel so drawn to him, even now that he'd given her a good kick in the heart.

Rick Grimes was one of the sexiest, kindest, bravest men she'd ever met. She'd wanted him since the day he saved her son's life. Protected her from her abusive ex husband. He'd been her savior, and she'd been hoping against hope that _she_ could be _his_ for so long now she was honestly embarrassed.

She could see it, as plain as day. The look she'd been denying she knew was there, hidden behind all the sorrow in those gorgeous blue eyes of his. The truth.

Rick didn't want her. He didn't love her, despite all her efforts and all her hope.

There was one woman he'd ever wanted the way Jessie wanted him.

The woman he still watched holoscreen footage of, late at night, something he didn't think anyone knew.

The late, great Michonne Snow.

The ghost in his eyes.

The spirit haunting his heart.

Jessie had lost Rick a long, long time ago. If she were honest with herself, from the first time she saw them hanging out with the kids together off-duty years ago, and how beautiful she was, and how easy she made everything seem, and how Rick looked at her...she never stood a chance against Michonne. Not when she was alive. Certainly not now that she was dead. If Michonne was the Titanic, Rick's grieving heart would be the iron the anchor at the end of an unbreakable chain tethering him to the deep, dark, cold bottom of the ocean forever for all Jessie knew.

Suddenly feeling sick to her stomach, Jessie just kept nodding as hot tears streamed down her face.

"Jessie - ?" Rick finally took a step forward, reaching out for her. She now flinched away from him as though his touch would burn her.

"Hey, it-it's okay. Really. Now worries, I totally get it." She was looking around for her shoes now, blinded by tears. She somewhat resembled a panicked, jittery bird trying to find its way out of a cage. "Um...I'm gonna go now, okay? Ron and Carl are off from Command Academy tomorrow, so...um...I-I'll just see you later, Rick. Goodnight."

He watched her grab her things and scurry out of the den, up the stairs. A few seconds later, he was engulfed in silence. Finally alone.

Relief and regret washed over him simultaneously, and Rick abandoned his beer - headed straight for the hard stuff. Lowering the illuminators until he was surrounded by cool gloom, Rick retrieved his bottle of vintage whiskey and poured himself a heaping glass. He slid out of his boots and carried the glass full of numbing potion to his chair, taking periodic swigs as he went.

Finally, he eased himself into his chair facing the holoscreen on his wall.

"Viewers." He spoke, closing his eyes wearily.

The wall-to-wall viewers in the den began to close at his command. Rick listened to the faint mechanical whirring as they shut, blanketing the room in further dimness. He tried for a few minutes to put Jessie's terribly hurt expression and gushing tears out of his mind. After deciding that he'd think of what to do to repair the damage tomorrow, he opened his eyes again and sighed.

"Holoscreen. Cloud Archive…"

Momentary guilt slithered through him as he started his almost nightly ritual. Shame. Obsession.

Rick ignored them. He needed this. He always needed this. He wouldn't be able to sleep otherwise.

"File Code: B-DP. October thirty-one, twenty-sixty-eight…"

The holoscreen came to life, casting lights and shadows across the room, bathing him in reflections of cherished memories. This one in particular was one of his favorites. He'd watched it so many times, it was a wonder he even had to voice the command anymore.

He heard ' _The Monster Mash'_ projected over LIZZY's surround sound, and he was thrust into the past.

* * *

 _ **[B-DP Cloud Archive]**_

 **…**

 _ **Bottom-District Precinct/Level 12..**_

 _ **Comms Tech Eugene Porter's Birthday Party...**_

 _ **10/31/2068..**_

 **…**

 _It had been Eugene's birthday, which also happened to be Halloween. Everyone was drunk, happy, looking good and riding a sugar high from Rosita's orange and black chocolate cake._

 _Michonne in particular. She was dressed as Catwoman. She looked amazing._

 _Rick remembered his heart stopping dead that night when she sashayed into the B-DP, wearing skin-tight leather, carrying a whip, and licking blood red lips from behind a sleek black cat mask. Everyone treated her like she was made of catnip that night, including him, despite himself. Lori had been working, as usual. It had been before she and Mike got together. It had been one of the most carefree times they'd ever had, Rick and Michonne. He'd been this close to telling her everything. But, like so many other times before, he chickened out, struck dumb by her coolness and undeniable beauty._

 _In the present, Rick drank his whiskey, staring fixated at the holoscreen projection of the bullpen from almost a decade ago, all covered in stupid decorations. Naked pictures of some of the full-figured women that inspired Eugene's LIZZY programming (all from old Playboy magazine archives), parts of sex bots, holographic Millennium Falcons and ghosts zooming about, and a bunch of other silly shit Abraham and Shane thought up in their immature minds._

 _The Family was all gathered around, dressed as various characters, blowing on noisemakers and wearing stupid cone hats. Holographic confetti was everywhere, 'sticking' to everything, including Michonne's gorgeous locs and leather-clad body._

 _Rick's eyes were only for her. Everyone else was a blur (though he lingered on Glenn's happy, 'Dog Boy' painted face for a moment with a pang of sorrow) as he zeroed in on that radiant smile of Michonne's. A dagger stabbed him straight through the heart as the sound of her laughter reached his ears._

 _Abraham had been obsessed with documenting everything through a vintage 'digital camera' for a long, annoying few years before his pea-brained attention flitted to some other collectible item from back in the day. He was using it to flirt with all the women at the party, especially Sasha and Michonne._

 _He was currently chasing Michonne around, trying to get her to take off her mask and give him a smile._

 _Rick sat still, his entire body being plummeted with anguish and undying longing as he watched Michonne laugh and shy away from Abe's camera eye._

" _Nooo! Get the hell out of here with that thing, Abe!" She snapped good-naturedly, grinning despite her annoyance._

" _Come on, darlin' just gimme one of those big, beautiful smiles o'yours first." Abe begged. "Mask off."_

" _I'm trying to eat my cake, stalker! Don't make me crack this whip."_

 _She swatted half-heatedly at the camera with her whip, rolling her eyes behind the black mask as she turned her back on him. Rick's eyes roamed the length of her body as she walked around the bullpen through the crowd of monsters and characters all waving and making faces at Abe's camera as she went._

 _Her exquisite curves trapped in all that tight leather; the cherry on top being her amazing backside. Those long, tightly coiled, shining dreadlocs bounced across her elegant shoulders, held back by the black strap of her mask and a headband adorned with black, metal cat ears._

 _ **He missed her so much.**_

" _Rick! Sasha! I need you! Our weapons specialist is cruising for a beat down over here."_

 _Michonne was giggling now, making her way over to where Rick (dressed as Bruce Wayne) was laughing and talking with (still a friendly back then) Mike and Shane. Both of them dressed as Blade and Hans Solo respectively. Then Abe's booming, enamored voice:_

" _Belay that, Cap! How 'bout you tell Miss Snow she's just too darn pretty to give up that easy instead?"_

" _Abe, shut up and go sit down. I think you had too much cake, babe." In the background, Sasha (dressed as Foxy Brown) rolled her eyes at Abraham but left Michonne to her fate._

" _Gee, thanks for the help, traitor."_

" _Any time, evil villain!"_

 _In the present, Rick watched, riveted, forgetting his drink, as Michonne rushed toward his past self and hid behind him, catching him off guard. He would give anything to be back there again. Start over. Do things the way he should've from the get-go._

" _Hey, 'Chonne. What's all this?"_

" _Jesus, Ford, give that corny shit a rest, would ya?" Shane had complained, even while running a hand through his thick hair to make sure it was still in place._

" _Call it corny now! But believe the shit outta me, a hundred damn years from now, when we're all old and our dicks have shriveled up, you'll thank me fer this one, amigo…"_

* * *

The much more haggard, much changed Grimes of the present could see quite plainly how her touch affected him, even then. He could still feel it. The slightest bit of her attention had sent his heart into a tornado and made his dick twitch in his pants back then, and it had only gotten worse, never better.

Nostradamus came slinking downstairs, rubbing his back against Rick's legs before walking through the holoscreen with a swish of his thin tail.

Swallowing down an intense surge of grief, Captain Grimes rubbed his beard, watching himself nervously try to shield Michonne from Abe. "Fast forward. Four - scratch that - five hours."

The holoscreen paused the image mid-frame (Michonne offering Mike a piece of her cake while Rick looked on, obviously jealous) and clicked rapidly forward until it found the footage he'd summoned.

* * *

 _ **[Resuming Playback]**_

 _Past Rick was working the camera, now, Abe having passed out in full Chewbacca costume on the floor of the bullpen an hour prior. The party was emptying out; everyone was fading fast._

 _The Family had dispersed to separate corners. Heath and Eugene dancing with an inflatable sex toy someone had brought. Cowgirl Maggie, Cyborg Rosita and Foxy Sasha were huddled together, gossiping._

 _Shane and his scantily-clad, Princess Leia-ponytailed firecracker had long since snuck off to fuck somewhere. Glenn was also passed out, sitting upright with swear words drawn all over his face._

 _Daryl was nowhere to be found. Probably brooding somewhere, knowing his reputation at parties._

 _Rick watched himself zoom in through the camera on Michonne and Mike flirting quietly in a corner down one of the long tunnels leading toward the locker rooms._

 _He heard himself sigh hard across the holoscreen audio. He had suspected it then, that they were gonna get together. He still felt the gut wrenching jealousy that suspicion produced just as viscerally now._

" _I'm headed out, if anybody needs a ride…"_

 _The peacekeeper heard himself calling, his slightly inebriated voice sounding hollow with something like hope - and annoyance._

" _Ooh! Me!"_

 _Michonne's attention was on him again as she grinned (her mask now off but her ears still going strong) and shot her hand up in the air._

" _I'm drunk as hell and there's_ _ **no way**_ _I'm riding on the back of your bike in all this slippery leather, Mike…"_

 _The camera picked up both Rick's quiet intake of breath and Mike's expression at the mental image her slurred words created for the two men. She stood from her leaning position against the tunnel wall and kissed her teammate (and future boyfriend) on the cheek, leaving the last of her crimson lipstick on his skin. Mike clenched his jaw but nodded, his eyes drifting to Rick and the camera as Michonne began making her way haltingly toward them._

"' _Night, 'Chonne. Bet I get you your favorite for breakfast tomorrow, though…" Mike called after her._

" _Deal. Sausage and pancakes. That's my favorite…" she agreed over her shoulder, still headed toward Rick, her beautiful face getting closer and closer to the holoscreen's edges._

 _In the present, Rick remembered himself thinking: 'Bet you_ _ **won't**_ _, pissant.'_

 _The camera footage cut out and then blinked on again a minute later as the two of them were drunkenly walking out to Rick's flyer in the misty night. Michonne was laughing, of course. The sound of it made present day Rick's heart freeze, as it no doubt made past Rick's heart soar._

" _Et tu, Bruce Wayne? For real? Will you turn that thing_ _ **off!**_ " _She was demanding as she stumbled to the passenger side, radiant in black._

" _No can do, princess. Abe's orders. 'Till sunrise, he said. We got…" The camera panned down to the streets as his arm came into view and he checked his watch. "Another hour and some change to go. Get in."_

" _You're too drunk to drive, boss…"_

" _That's what LIZZY's for, Snow."_

 _The camera cut out again as he watched Michonne's beautiful, cat-eared head disappear into the flyer._

 _Then picked back up that hour and change later. The frame jangled around a bit as he got it situated, and when it finally stilled, it revealed the breathtaking view of the sunrise over the city of spiraling towers._

 _They were in hover mode, because he had flown them far up past her level, to the very top._

" _Take over for me, would ya, LIZZY?"_

" _ **Of course, Rick. And good morning."**_

 _LIZZY's very missed voice could be heard confirming his order as the flyer shifted to auto pilot._

" _Mornin'. It's a beautiful one, don't you think?"_

 _His voice sounded so much more at ease to his own ears. If the poor bastard only knew._

" _ **I do indeed, boss. I imagine Michonne would as well...that's why we're here, isn't it?"**_

" _I keep forgettin' how well you know me, LIZZY."_

 _She did. She always had. Eugene was a genius in that way._

 _Rick turned the camera toward the passenger side as brilliant streaks of pinkish, orangish and purplish light began to break through the fog. There, asleep next to him, looking more beautiful and radiant than ever, was Michonne. She was curled up in the bucket seat, swathed in all that leather, at peace._

 _There was a long pause, in which Rick simply filmed her sleeping peacefully as the sun rose. Then his gentle whisper:_

" _Hey. Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. The sun's risin'...you're gonna miss it."_

 _His hand came into view again, and he reached out to touch her, stroking her cheek softly, moving locs of hair out of his way. Michonne stirred, leaning her face into his touch. She groaned and stretched as Rick's hand hovered, laying back to curl up into the seat again, still not opening her eyes. "Mmmm...where are we…?"_

" _Up top. Small detour."_

 _She chuckled sleepily, looking so beautiful it was painful. "You're such a sap. Lori's gonna murder you."_

 _Rick returned her laughter at his expense. The camera shook a bit with his body as he continued stroking her cheek with his free hand._

" _I'll make it up to her. This one's pretty good, though. You should open your eyes and catch it."_

" _Breakfast…" Michonne mumbled nonsensically, still rubbing her smooth cheek against his thumb._

" _What was that" He breathed, now moving to stroke her gorgeous, red-tinted lips._

 _In the present, Rick felt his heart throb and his jeans grow tight, watching...feeling what his past self had been feeling in that moment. Pure, unbridled longing. Michonne raised a perfectly arched eyebrow, still refusing to watch the sunrise with him. So stubborn...so damned sexy, even in her sleep._

" _That's how you make it up to her and the kids, Grimes." She said smoothly. "We'll bring them breakfast. I'm hungry…"_

" _Good thinkin'. Where to, hot shot?"_

" _You're such an old man. How about the Pancake Hut?"_

 _Rick heard himself chuckle again, and he stroked her skin still more...tenderly, this time. "I know, I'm a sappy old man, got it. You should probably avoid insultin' my liquor tolerance in your condition, though. Pancake Hut it is._

" _I'll make a deal with ya...open your eyes and watch this sunrise with me, and I'll get you your favorite, how's that sound?"_

" _Mmmm...sausage and pancakes...okay, I'm waking up. Right meooow…" she purred, still kinda drunk._

 _He laughed again. She was so goddamned adorable when she wasn't kicking ass and taking names. When he had her alone, just the two of them. Where he always wanted her._

 _Michonne lingered with her eyes closed, and some part of him had been hoping then that she enjoyed his touch, that she wanted him to_ _ **keep**_ _touching her._

 _And he'd wanted to stay right there hovering up top in the beautiful sunshine, touching her, kissing her, holding her, letting every tender thought he ever had toward her spill out of him._

" _Any time's good, princess." He couldn't help himself from disturbing her again._

" _Shh...just a minute…" she frowned in mock concentration behind her fluttering eyelids. "I'm dreaming about sausage...mmm...I love sausage."_

 _Another pause. A moment cemented in Rick's memory forever. The moment he'd almost told her._

" _You know what I love…?" He drawled softly, stroking her lips again. Michonne's eyes fluttered open, finally, and she gazed over at him and the camera. She waited. His fingers paused their movement, and he took a deep breath. "Sunrises. Now quit stallin'. It's beautiful and it's almost over."_

 _Michonne paused, but finally grinned and rolled her eyes at him, swatting his hand away to sit up straight in the seat. "Fine. You're bossy in the morning..."_

" _I'm not bossy, I'm the boss. Now it's quiet time for ten minutes."_

 _The camera cut out again, and then resumed ten minutes later as the bright sky was fully bloomed. Michonne was smiling, watching the city wake up below them. "You were right. That was beautiful."_

 _And he remembered thinking: 'So are you. I love you.'_

 _But he couldn't say it._

* * *

 **03:49**

He _should_ have. He'd wasted so much time. That was the hardest part.

Rick was sitting forward in his chair in the dark, gripping his empty whiskey glass, his watery blue eyes latched onto Michonne's smiling face.

This expression was not unlike the one she'd give him before she jumped. Except there had been nothing guarding her heart from him then, as he could plainly see projected back at him now. His eyebrows rose into his slicked-back curls as a long, heavy breath of emptiness moved through him like Michonne's ghost itself. He stared at her smiling face.

Not a day went by when he didn't long for that sunrise again. That moment to do over.

He'd have told her he loved her.

He cleared his throat, realizing that it was late, and he was gonna drive himself crazy if he sat here all night watching playback from days he could never have again.

"Reverse playback." He spoke for the first time in nearly twenty minutes. The holoscreen footage clicked backward steadily, until he spotted the moment he was looking for. "Stop."

Michonne was lying next to him in his passenger seat, her eyes closed, looking comfortable and content as he stroked her cheek and tried to coax her awake.

Rick stood up from his chair, his old bones and still-toned though weary muscles singing to him with each movement. "Isolate."

The holoscreen carved out Michonne's image and everything else in the scene fell away - the car, his hand, the sunrise and sky bridges below.

"Enhance. Resize. Match specifications, BD-P Personnel File...Snow. Michonne. She was...five feet...eight inches. One-hundred-and-twenty pounds, give or take."

The powerful grip of sadness and exhaustion began to drag him down as Rick poured himself another shot of whiskey and gulped it while the holoscreen executed his voice commands. His chest burning, he watched Nostradamus licking himself, having stolen his owner's seat in the recliner.

The holoscreen finished isolating and resizing the footage of Michonne asleep in his flyer from one amazing Halloween almost a decade ago.

"Clip file. Infinite loop. Download to portable holoscreen." He rasped, sitting his dirty glass down on his messy desk next to his not even half-finished beer. The holoscreen did as he commanded and a few seconds later the portable pad amongst all the clutter pinged with a notification that the download was complete. Rick picked up the pad and carried it over to the back wall of his divorcee's den.

Yawning, he touched the smooth, white wall and his biosignature activated the hidden bed behind it.

Rick watched the bed fold out from the wall and then tossed the holoscreen pad onto it next to where he intended to sleep. He took off his shirt and tossed it aside. Then he peeled off his dirty black jeans.

He tugged off his boxer briefs last and climbed naked into bed, slipping under the cool sheets, his entire body deflating with relief. Immediately, he rolled onto his stomach, reaching out to activate the portable holoscreen.

A life-sized hologram of Michonne's body was projected next to his, still sleeping in her cat suit. He smiled sadly, a tear running down his cheek before dropping away to be absorbed into the sheets.

"Alter image. Isolate black leather catsuit. Isolate boots. Isolate cat ears. Pull back layers..."

The hologram of Michonne glowed to life as she stirred in her 'sleep', her beautiful lips curving up into a slightly annoyed smile. As though she was real, and she knew what he was up to. Layers of her clothing were stripped away until there was nothing but her underwear.

"There. Now continue looping playback."

He watched her 'breathing', her eyes closed, snuggling up into the sheets next to him, the perfect curves of her body calling out to him. Rick let his hand slid across the sheets toward the hologram, stopping just before he touched. If he touched, he'd go right through her. Because though she was beautiful, she wasn't the real thing.

The real thing was asleep forever.

Anguish rose up inside of him like a current and he found tears disturbing his view of her.

"I miss you, baby…" he moaned pitifully into his pillow, his abdomen contracting with his silent sobs.

Michonne's hologram didn't respond, only continued sleeping, her expression forever hovering on the verge of opening her eyes and looking at him.

Rick fell asleep staring at her. Eventually, VAL roused herself and detected that he was no longer in need of the hologram, so she turned it off.

* * *

 **Next:**

 **Rick sees a dream walking.**

 **As usual, you'll find the music I listened to writing each chapter, plus visuals for more world buildy goodness on the ole tumblr (search: "kendrawriter, "machine heart inspiration", "that song is so richonne").**

 **-Kendra**


	8. the dream walking, part ii

_listen to the wind blow…_

 _watch the sun rise_

 _running in the shadows…_

 _damn your love, damn your lies_

 _break the silence…_

 _damn the dark, damn the light_

 _and if you don't love me now_

 _you will never love me again_

 _but I can still hear you saying_

 _you would never break the chain_

 _(the chaaaaaiin will keep us together!)_

\- 'The Chain', Fleetwood Mac

* * *

 _ **[Rebooting]**_

 _ **[Safe Zone City Cloud Archive]**_

 **…**

 _ **Rick Grimes' Apartment Tower/Level 8...**_

 _ **4/01/2077..**_

 **…**

 _ **09:17**_

" _Rick? Wake up, now. Riiiick…?"_

He flinched awake at the sound of VAL's hissing voice. He'd been dreaming of Michonne. Jumping from Tyreese's flyer.

The image of her gliding through the air like a human sword plunging down into the heart of the Skyscraper atrium clung to the backs of his eyelids as Rick dragged himself out of a well of deep slumber.

" _ **What**_ **,** VAL?" He barked harshly, rubbing his eyes and turning over on his back. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his muscular chest rising and falling as he tried to calm his temper at being jolted awake. And his dread at the image still stuck in his mind's eye. He was in his den. Not in the flyer. It was six years later and Michonne was still dead.

When he opened his eyes, it was pitch black. What the hell time was it…? He'd forgotten, he kept his viewers closed pretty much all the time down here. He lay there, breathing, realizing that he himself was still alive, still empty.

" _My itinerary indicates that you're supposed to be off duty today, but I'm afraid you're being called in."_

VAL answered somewhat contritely.

" _Carl and Judith are already up, with breakfast."_

There was a pause as it washed over him that he was going to have to drag his old, tired ass back into the B-DP for a shift that probably wouldn't end for another twelve hours. Whomever it was that called out sick, he was gonna make sure they suffered for it. But he knew he didn't really mind all that much. He was tired, but work distracted him from...this.

" _Jessie stopped by an hour ago to retrieve Sam and Ronald. She asked me not to wake you."_

Rick grunted and scratched his balls, willing everything to go back to sleep for just ten more minutes.

"What's the damn emergency?" He asked, ignoring the news about Jessie. He'd deal with her later.

" _File Code: Restricted, I'm afraid. Only an urgent summons from Chief Watson. Shall I put you through to her?"_

"Christ. _No_...I'm butt ass naked. Tell her I'll see her when I get there. Get out, would ya?"

" _Yep. Pissing off, now. Your coffee's on, by the way…"_

Before she'd left, though, she activated the wall-to-wall viewers, automatically acting on a programmed hunch that he wasn't going to get up until the sunlight forced him to. The weak, early morning light strained against the rush hour fog, spilling into the room to illuminate his lonely existence.

And VAL was gone again, disappeared to another part of the house, probably to tend to the kids.

It occurred to him that he would probably need to go ahead and let go of his resistance to letting a COMPANION™ program watch his kids if he couldn't find a replacement for Jessie.

Rick wanted to let Jessie go. He had to. It wasn't fair to her, keeping her hanging around in hope while he used her up. He knew it as well as she knew it probably. If she stuck around, the hope would never die. And she'd start to resent him. Hell, who knew what all that tension would do to the kids.

Carl was seventeen, now, he wasn't a kid anymore Rick had to remind himself. His smart, compassionate son could take care of himself - had been for a long time, anyway. Jessie was mostly there for Judith (and Rick's peace of mind), but his little girl was no dummy, either. Rick figured he could stop being such an old, overprotective grouch just this once, for their sake.

"VAL? Thank you." He called out after thinking about it.

" _Of course…that's what I'm here for."_

Came her reply. She was omnipresent, like LIZZY used to be. Part of Rick hoped Judith or Eugene really _did_ manage to find LIZZY and the others out there in netspace one of these days.

Rick turned over on his side and stared at the now empty spot in his bed where Michonne's hologram had been projected next to him last night. VAL must have deactivated it while he slept. There was nothing there now, not even a dent where a real body would have been. He tried not to let the beast claw up his insides too much as he sighed hard and finally got out of bed.

It was time, yet again, to go to work. Alone.

* * *

Carl shoved Marshmallow Chocolate Cheerios into his mouth and chomped, milk dripping from his lips and chin as he stared absentmindedly at the holoscreen in the kitchen.

His dark brown hair hung in his eyes, as usual, covered in a dirty old sheriff's hat he'd found on one of his adventures when he was a little tike. Ever since he found this hat, he'd had nothing but good luck whenever he ended up in trouble, in a fight, up against walkers, anything. He'd been wearing this hat one of the first times Michonne saved his life. The day she and his dad finally started to trust each other. It was his good luck charm. He wore it always. Even in the shower.

He and Jude were watching reruns from the archives of old ' _Avatar: The Legend of Korra'_ anime. Not speaking. Just the two of them and Nostradamus, who was nibbling at the food in his bowl, automatically dispensed every morning and evening by VAL.

Rick's extra strong black coffee had been done brewing for almost ten minutes. It would burn if their dad didn't hurry up. Knowing him, he'd be another five minutes, still unshaved, still unfocused due to lack of sleep, kind of a dead man walking until he had that first cup of piping hot coffee. It was business as usual when they stayed with the reclusive elder Grimes half the days out of the year.

Judith laughed at something her favorite character Boomie said to his big brother Tenzin in the show.

"You're like Tenzin, Carl…" the blonde, bespectacled little smartass quipped. "Boring and mean."

Most kids these days had lasers for eyes if they were born with bad sight, but not Jude. Their father was so old fashioned, he went to the trouble of teaching Jude how to throat punch bullies rather than turning her into a hybrid before she reached puberty. Carl had to admit, though, it made her pretty thick skinned.

"Yeah, well at least I'm old enough to pilot. You'll be eighty before dad lets you behind the wheel." Carl muttered as a halfhearted comeback. "If I'm like Tenzin, who's Dad like?"

Judith frowned at the holoscreen for a beat, but it didn't take either of them long to come up with an answer. The big brother and little sister turned to exchange looks with each other just as the character in question appeared, scowling as usual. "Chief Beifong." They agreed in unison.

Their father maybe didn't go off on people as much as Chief Beifong's character in their favorite anime cartoon, but he certainly possessed the volcano of bitterness inside.

He missed Michonne. So did Carl and Judith.

Judith didn't remember her much, but Carl did. He remembered her bringing him real, paper comics from wherever she traveled before they found this place and they didn't have many luxuries. He remembered being able to tell her stuff he couldn't tell his parents. She never judged. She just listened. He remembered her making his dad laugh all the time. He remembered his mom hating her guts, but that part had always been amusing to him more than anything.

Carl remembered all that, and he felt sad about it sometimes, but his dad was a different story.

Sometimes Carl worried all his dad _ever_ did was brood over the past. Sure, he was there for them when they really needed him, he'd always be. But other than that he worked, slept, and kept quiet. A stiff upper lip, crinkles at the corners of his eyes, and a beard that covered most of his face. Their 'uncle' Shane and 'auntie' Andrea didn't even come around that much anymore.

Occasionally their father tried engaging them, but more often than not they knew to leave him be. They loved their dad, but a chatterbox he was not, and it suited them both just fine, for the most part.

They were smart kids with a lot going on. When they weren't in school, they pretty much kept themselves entertained exploring with their gang of street urchins from around the B-District, tinkering, hacking, or zoning out in front of the holoscreens watching anything they could think of from before the world went to shit. The Grid was forbidden, of course. Still, Carl, Ron, and Noah had managed to hack a secret streaming channel that let them watch without breaching VAL's parental control firewall.

If their father ever found out that sometimes Carl let Judith watch Negan bashing walkers with Lucille, he'd be skinned alive. But he wasn't too worried. His dad didn't punish them too harshly - the sentence always fit the crime. He expected them to think about things, make smart, informed choices, live with the consequences of their actions, and be honest with him because honesty was safer than anything. So, if he needed to know about the secret holostream, he'd find out, and they'd see what happened.

"Hey, switch to the news. I wanna see what's goin' on with the riots today…"

"Aw maaaan, no fair. Five more minutes, come on!" Judith complained, her ponytail swinging and her glasses slipping down on the bridge of her nose.

"Nope. Time's up, loser."

"Dickwad…"

Carl ignored her foul mouth and irritated huffing and puffing, spooning another helping of cereal into his mouth. "Channel eight." He commanded the holoscreen around a load of crunchy, sweet breakfast confection.

The holoscreen switched from Avatar Korra's enraged face to the local city-wide news. Carl was a political junkie. Judith rolled her eyes and rested her tiny chin on her hand, bored stiff already.

"Judith…" They heard their father's low, serious voice and froze as he sauntered up the stairs and around to face them, freshly showered and changed for work. His stern eyes fell on hers as he made his way into the kitchen, headed straight for the coffee pot. "What'd we say about swearin' at the breakfast table?"

Jude swallowed, pushing her glasses up on her nose. "Shit. Sorry, daddy."

Rick raised an eyebrow at her, clenching his jaw. She was cute, but it was early and he hadn't had his coffee yet. She was pushing it. "Just try to contain yourself, sweetheart. Let it out when someone deserves it. No one likes an asshole so early in the mornin'...trust me…" He blew on his hot coffee, attempting a joke for the first time in maybe months. "I know from experience."

"Yes, daddy." She giggled when he winked at her, putty in his hands no matter how grouchy he got. She was still his (very smart, very sassy) little girl. "I won't cuss at breakfast anymore - but Carl turned off Korra right at the good part!"

"The news is on, shush." Carl dismissed her, shoving more cereal into his mouth. He watched the news about more riots breaking out at the Gates of Hell while his father sipped his coffee and tried to return to the land of the living. He spoke up about something on his mind, though. "Jessie took Ron and Sam home really early, dad. What was that all about?"

Rick sighed hard, putting his coffee down and coming to stand blocking the hollow screen, reaching out to ruffle Judith's curly blond head. "I think…" he cleared his throat and shifted on his feet. "I think Jessie's gonna find another job, and we're gonna have VAL watch you guys for a spell. You'll still get to see your friends, just...not quite as much as usual. How's that sound?"

Carl frowned at his father from under his hat and halo of wavy brown hair, his keen blue eyes processing. Judith made several faces in rapid succession as her feelings on the matter ping-ponged from confused to intrigued to enthusiastic. "Sounds like a wise choice, father." She agreed in far too mature a voice, sounding like an eight-year-old going on eighty.

"Thanks, squirt. What about you, sheriff?" Rick ruffled Judith's hair again, referring to his nickname for Carl when he was Jude's age. His steel blue eyes now meeting his teenaged son's identical ones. Judith had Lori's eyes, Carl his father's.

Carl shrugged. He had a feeling there was a whole lot more to the story, like why Jessie was crying when she woke them up to pull her sons out of bed, but he knew pressing his father was futile.

"Sure. It's not like Judith ever listens to her anyway…"

"Hey!" Judith stuck her tongue out at him. "I do, _too_. _You're_ the one givin' her lip all the time."

"Do _not_." Carl sunk to her level, returning her stink face, his cheeks flushed at being called out.

"Pipe that shit down - _**hey**_." Their father silenced their sibling bickering with a stern voice. "I don't ever wanna hear either of you disrespectin' Jessie, _ever_ , you got that? She's done more than asked of her and she deserves your respect."

"Yes sir." They answered him obediently.

"Good." Rick shifted on his feet and rubbed the ridge of his nose. He sighed and started for the living room a step or two down from the kitchen to find his watch. "I gotta go in today, I'm sorry. You guys can occupy yourselves with VAL until I get a break. She _will_ be watchin', so don't try anythin' illegal, or it ain't gonna be pretty - _got it,_ squirt?" He eyed Judith until she nodded vigorously. Carl nodded, too, knowing the drill.

"Does it have to do with those riots across the border?" Carl asked while his father searched their living room for his wrist watch, now watching the news again. Images of droves of hybrids, cyborgs, chained up walkers and all kinds of horrible 'citizens' from across the border were being depicted as a Safe Zone City reporter summed up the latest developments in Negan's bid for power.

"What…?" Rick muttered, distracted as he picked up couch pillows and shoved aside old takeout boxes.

"You being on call today. Is it 'cause of the riots?"

Rick couldn't find his damn watch. "I think you should give the news a rest for a while, son."

Carl tore his eyes away from the holoscreen at his father's dismissive tone, momentarily annoyed. If he were with Michonne, they'd both be concerned about the mounting unrest in the Gates of Hell. They'd want answers from President Monroe and the new Mayor, that asshole Stookey. They wouldn't just be sitting back watching those creepy Smith guys lord all the power and shake down everyone but the real bad guys - Negan's guys.

Fed up watching his father struggle to find his watch (all the while ignoring the fact that they lived in a post walker tech world), he called out to VAL.

"VAL, locate dad's watch."

Rick turned to raise an unimpressed eyebrow at the attitude in his son's deep voice.

" _Rick, your watch is on your desk. Downstairs. And, I'm sorry but Shane is calling for you again."_

VAL answered almost immediately.

"You should go, dad. You're gonna be late."

Father and son glared at each other for a beat, both of them concerned for each other in a different way.

"I'll take it in my flyer." Finally, Rick sauntered out of the living room, back downstairs to his den, where he spent most of his time these days...watching old reruns of his life with Michonne.

Carl sometimes wondered how much worse this would be if his father had admitted he was in love with his partner. He wished he could talk to his dad about it. But he couldn't. So he didn't.

A few minutes later, Rick was headed for the front door. "Call me if it's an emergency. Love you both."

Then he was gone.

"Way to hurt daddy's feelings, dickwad." Jude rolled her eyes, totally ignoring her father's earlier request. "You know he forgets stuff."

"Not _some_ stuff…" Carl muttered, playing with his now soggy cereal. "And quit sayin' 'dick', you sound dumb."

* * *

One again, Rick rode the elevator down to the garage in silence.

One of his neighbors, a hybrid teenager with a lot of tattoos and a metal arm almost comparable to Abraham's got on at one point, but she disappeared again a couple of levels down.

Of course, as soon as Rick powered up his flyer and made it out of the garage, their new COMPANION™ JACK was announcing himself with urgent calls from the B-DP.

" _Hey, man. Greetings, good morning, how's the chronic depression - oh and by the way, you've missed about_ _ **thirty**_ _urgent calls from Chief Watson and Captain Walsh."_

Rick rolled his eyes, switching to manual comms without wasting his breath. He hated this new asshole that had come with Dallas when she'd been banished to the B-DP.

He often regretted complaining about LIZZY's at least bearable personality. JACK was a sarcastic know-it-all at the best of times, and Rick had simply taken to ignoring him as much as possible. For something to listen to as he hit traffic making his way down to the Bottom-District, he accessed the radio stream in the cloud archive, tuning it to his favorite station. The classic rock station.

He didn't know when it happened after Michonne died, but Rick's attitude about Abraham's tastes in music had softened somewhat considerably over the years. He piloted the flyer into the rush hour melee on one of the sky bridges that would lead him directly to the B-DP as Fleetwood Mac's ' _The Chain'_ filled the the surround sound speakers.

Rick took his time getting to work. He had no desire to speed up how long it would take until he'd be forced to deal with his current reality, or whatever political fire he'd be assigned to put out today.

He even stopped for more coffee at one of the sky carts while he was stuck moving at a snail's pace.

Shane interrupted his first sip, causing the hot stuff to drip into his beard as his childhood friend's sweaty face appeared on the holoscreen before him.

"Yo! Boss! What the hell are you doin', man? I've been callin' you all mornin'! You gotta get down here. A-Fuckin'- _SAP_."

Rick wiped at his beard, placing his coffee cup in a holster and maneuvering the flyer away from the cart, back into traffic. He didn't like the jittery look in Shane's eyes. It told Rick that something was happening that was going to make him angry.

He also didn't like that it appeared as though Shane had snuck out back down one of the service tunnels where the laundry rooms steamed all their shit to make this call.

"What's going on down there, Shane?" Rick drawled, his brow folding his entire face down into his beard as he changed digitized lanes and exited the sky bridge.

Shane took a deep breath, now sweating. He looked...totally taken aback...speechless...scared.

"Listen, man." He said urgently, carefully. "There's someone here. Someone...Jesus Christ, brother, you're not gonna _believe_ this shit. I can hardly believe it myself. You just, you gotta get down here. _Fast_. Alright? That's all I can tell ya. It's a goddamned miracle. Or a complete mess. That depends on you, I guess. Whatever you decide, me and 'Drea are backin' you up."

Rick scowled. He didn't know what the fuck was wrong with everyone today, but they were all putting him in a sour mood with this cryptic bullshit the further he got from his condo.

"Speak English, _goddamn it_." He barked at his best friend. "Spit it the fuck out."

"Haven't you been watchin' the holoscreens, asshole?" Shane snapped back, still looking bewildered and a little confused.

"Shane!" Someone - sounded like 'Drea - called for him sharply. His eyes left the holoscreen for a moment as he lifted his head to regard his wife out of Rick's view. "She's coming out of Watson's office! She's headed this way! Hurry the fuck up. _**Now!**_ "

Shane looked as though he was torn. He turned back to Rick. "Shit. Look, just get your ass down here, and do yourself a favor...call me before you come in. Don't come in until I come and get you, okay man? I gotta go. We're surrounded by press, it's ugly man. _**Don't come in. I'll come get you, Rick.**_ "

Shane ended the call, his face disappearing from the holoscreen. Rick's scowl grew deeper, his chest tighter with annoyance. What the hell was going on? There were swarms of press at the B-DP? Was Monroe or that crackpot Bob Stookey up to some more sneaky political bullshit?

Great. Just great. And thanks to Watson's old ties to Command, she and the B-DP would no doubt be used as pawns in Monroe's political game of chess. None of this was good. He couldn't believe he'd been summoned there for this shit on his day off.

Dallas had better have a fuckin' plan to resist whatever it was Monroe and Stookey had up their sleeves.

The moody, intense classic rock song's bass guitar and drums pounded in his ears as the surging vocals declared " _If you don't love me now, you will never love me again…!"_ as Rick eased his flyer down to the 12th level. " _I can still hear you saying you would never break the chain!"_

And - holy shit - Shane had been right. There was a media circus outside headquarters, blocking his goddamned parking spot, for starters. Rick huffed angrily through his nostrils as he zoomed past the the crowd of hysterical reporters vying for shots of anyone important to lob questions at like HV-machine gun rounds.

He zipped through the long block and turned down an alley that would lead him to a side tunnel entrance.

Dread mounted within him the further he made it down the alley.

* * *

 _ **[Safe Zone City Cloud Archive]**_

 **…**

 _ **B-DP/Level 8...**_

 _ **4/01/2077..**_

 **…**

 _ **09:37**_

Rick parked and powered down the flyer, climbing out without a backward glance at his holoscreen.

There was no way he was gonna stand around in the side alley like a jackass while Shane tried to cover up some major fuckup. Rick could only imagine what Monroe had done now as he sauntered inside, his brow furrowed and his bearded jaw set into a hard line.

As soon as he stepped inside, he heard commotion. And he saw steam, creeping down the gray tunnel toward him. Echoes of fused sounds drifted toward him as well - it sounded like there was damn party going on in here.

 _What the ever lovin' fuck…?_

He was starting to get angry. He ran a hand through his still-damp, longish hair, stalking along the winding tunnels leading him toward the main rooms.

Laundry. Examination room. Gym. Weapons lockup. Showers.

There was a huge crowd surrounding the locker room - his entire unit and then some - their backs to him. Maybe twenty bodies deep, they all craned their necks to get a look at whatever was going on inside as steam cascaded from the shower chamber and music flowed out to greet them along with it.

Rick recognized the song he'd just been listening to, blasting over the surround sound inside as he came to a slow, hesitant halt just down the tunnel from the crowd. His first thought was that maybe Abe was in there drunk again, listening to the same radio station.

But that didn't explain these new faces, or Watson's absence from the crowd, or the press blockading the entrance outside.

"Jesus...it looks just like her…" someone murmured in awe.

"What's it made of?"

"Fuck if I know. It looks human. Not hybrid..."

" _Actually, she's made of an adamantium skeleton and a positronic brain encased in living, organic tissue. All the standard human stuff, with extra...oomph."_

JACK informed them.

"Your COMPANION™ is correct, ladies and gents." Rick heard the smarmy, slick voice of their current mayor, Bob Stookey, and he immediately bristled. "She's made of all the _best_ stuff. And virtually indestructible, I might add. Take a gander at the future, people."

"What the hell is goin' on in my precinct?" Rick drawled, causing the crowd to hush and part for him.

They were all there, save Watson. He had a hunch that wherever she was, Monroe and the Smiths were with her. Shane. Andrea. Sasha. Eugene. Heath. Abe. Starbuck and Bishop, their newest and most promising.

A few reporters. And that jackass he was forced to serve, Stookey.

"Rick, man…" Shane was pale as a ghost. He looked like he wanted to tackle Rick and drag him back out through the tunnels. They all did, staring at him with expressions on their mute faces that ranged from shock to fear to pity. "I told you to let me come get you."

His friend took a step forward.

"Captain Grimes." Mayor Stookey cut Shane off before he could make it through the riveted crowd. Steam and music surrounded them. "Glad you could finally make it. Today's a historic day. Thank you for gracing us with your presence."

Rick tilted his head at the mayor, his leg bouncing impatiently, his trigger fingers itching. He side-eyed Shane as the steam and music persisted. Abraham was standing in the crowd, also looking like he'd seen a ghost. Then the suspicious peacekeeping captain's wild blue eyes slid back over to the mayor's.

"You didn't answer my question, _Bob_."

"Why don't you go see for yourself, Captain?" The mayor played it cool, ignoring the disrespect, smiling flatly. "She's...pretty anxious to meet _you_ , as well."

Everyone went stiff as boards and Rick glared at the short, balding mayor for a beat. Then he cut through the crowd, turning and passing all of their intense, anticipatory glares as he crossed into the steamy locker room to do just that.

His threadbare brown t-shirt was instantly soaked with the humidity as he walked inside, squinting into the shower chamber, where some person he'd never met before was engulfed in hot steam and water.

The music was loud, the song booming across his skin, raising goosebumps as Rick came to a halt and stared at the figure he could barely make out in there. He glared into the shower chamber, as though his gaze alone could cut through the steam and reveal her to him. It was definitely a _her_ , he confirmed, judging by the outline of the figure he could make out washing soap across her arms and shoulders. She was showering as if completely unaware (or uncaring) of the audience that had gathered around to watch her.

Finally, the steam cleared a bit, and he could see her, totally naked with her back to him.

She was black. Dark skinned. Incredibly toned. With a pronounced, muscular, curvaceous backside.

She had a short bob of thick, shining dreadlocs.

The glint of a thin, gold chain flashed at him from the nape of her elegant neck as she let the water cascade down her body, taking the last remnants of slippery soap bubbles with it. And then, as if she somehow...sensed his presence behind her, her head lifted and she turned to the side.

A small, hopeful smile slowly developed on her all at once familiar, beautifully thick lips.

Finally, the stranger turned around.

The gold chain glinted. A small 'M' charm attached to it, resting against her slippery skin.

Rick's eyes rose to her face.

His heart stopped dead in his chest.

He didn't know what he'd been expecting, but it wasn't _this_.

He had to be dreaming. Or hallucinating. Had he finally, _finally_ lost his mind…?

 _Michonne_ was standing before him, gazing at him with the hopeful awe of a princess greeting a fairytale frog turned into a prince from a dream. Her large, gorgeous brown eyes widened as she abandoned the shower and began making her way slowly toward him.

Her gait and postured oozed confidence. The sway of her hips as familiar to him as breathing. He'd watched her walking so many times over three long years. He knew that walk.

Rick blinked, tears sprouting in his wide, disbelieving eyes as she came closer and closer. The room began to spin and tunnel vision struck him _hard_ as this...thing, this walking dream, this... _mirage_ kept coming.

It wasn't Michonne. It couldn't be. _How could she be here?_

Rick staggered backward, but she was so close to him by then that he could smell the pleasant scent of Michonne's favorite cleansing oils wafting off of her glistening, steaming skin.

 _God…no_...this wasn't real. Was it?

 _Michonne is dead_ , _my baby is_ _ **dead,**_ his mind screamed at him as the beautiful naked creature that looked exactly - _perfectly_ , from head to toe - like his love closed the distance between them. Her eyes latched onto his, her lips parted in adoration and wonder.

He glared down at her, his crystal blues blazing with complete denial of what he was seeing.

Finally, she was upon him. Smelling like _her_. Looking exactly like _her_ except for the shorter hair. Her eyes, her lips, her flawless, dark skin. Wet and hot and pliant as she melted against him and raised her arms to wrap her hands around his neck. Rick couldn't move or speak, staring at an illusion that felt so real - _too_ real - his mind hardly able to process as his heart pounded in his chest.

Every eyelash, pore, every curve. Her heavy, dewdrop breasts, the dip in her spine, her long, cool fingers combing through his hair. Rick was lulled, hypnotized, horrified, _aroused beyond belief._

"Rick…?" She breathed, and her voice was Michonne's too. She was gazing up into his eyes beseechingly, studying him, searching every inch of his face, her eyes appearing to him this close to be a burning brown galaxy comprised of billions of brilliant stars. " _My_ Rick?"

He almost lost it, exhaling roughly through his nostrils as his arms found their way around her wet, exquisite body. He closed his eyes and leaned into her, giving in to the illusion, succumbing to his despair and searing hope that this wasn't a dream. She felt so real. So alive. So warm. So soft. So ready for the taking. _Yes, I'm your Rick, baby_...he thought, just before she kissed him. _God, I've waited so long..._

Rick crushed the beautiful illusion in his arms against him, claiming her sweet lips for his with a tortured groan. She licked at his fuzzy bottom lip and he opened for her without hesitation, bowing her over as he tried to devour her right there in the middle of the locker room, surrounding by steam. She tasted _divine_.

The music crescendoed around them and Rick let it all go - he no longer cared if he was dead or alive, dreaming or awake and hallucinating.

 _Michonne_ was in his arms again. It had been so long since he held her, he was positively starving for her. They kissed as though they were exchanging souls, glued to each other, hands roaming, tongues dancing.

Rick felt his dick grow hard against her naked hip and he squeezed her tighter. She was real.

But she couldn't be.

The steam, the music. Their audience. Those were all real things. Things he could _feel_.

So how could he feel her?

Rick stopped kissing the illusion in his arms and leaned back to look down at her. She was Michonne, staring up at him, her brown eyes full of love. But she _couldn't_ be. A hideous sense of betrayal and confusion began to settle over him like a sticky spider web.

"That's one hell of a greeting, Captain…" Mayor Bob's smug voice sounded from behind him. "Remind me never to introduce you to my mother."

The thing with Michonne's face continued to gaze up at him lovingly. Rick stepped back, horrified.

Remembering what JACK had just said. Positronic brain. Adamantium skeleton. Organic tissue.

"What _are_ you?" He grunted, his heart still pounding, his dick hard, his stomach turning. "What is this?"

He backed up still more, turning to face the peanut gallery behind him, tearing his eyes away from whatever the hell that was that he'd been kissing as if under some kind of spell. He looked to his friends. Abe? Sasha? 'Drea? Shane?

Shane looked guilty, torn up inside. He crossed his arms sadly. "I tried to warn you, brother."

"She's called a REPLICANT™. She's state of the art. And she's your new teammate." Bob said, still smug. Still in need of a good kick in the teeth.

"Rick?" The thing...the mirage, the illusion, the _assassin_ behind him spoke again. "What's wrong?"

Rick bristled, closing his eyes at the sound of that voice. A dagger to his heart. A voice he should _not_ be hearing right now. He felt as though the floor would drop away and he'd be catapulted into space to a quick, merciless death.

He didn't turn to acknowledge it. Instead his laser-sharp gaze zeroed in on Eugene, who looked like he could shit his pants right then and there.

"Where the fuck is Watson?" He growled.

"I-In her office, boss." Eugene half-squeaked.

Rick stalked out of the locker room and through the crowd without another word, ignoring everyone as Bob rushed with reporters into the locker room to interview the still-naked ghost that he'd just met.

His mind reeled with rage, anguish, and a host of other gnarled, twisting and turning emotions as he made it down the tunnel leading to her office. She was inside, on a call it seemed. No doubt with the President and the Smiths.

Everyone on his team tore their attention from the REPLICANT™ that had just been dropped into their laps like a grenade and followed, fumbling and bumbling all over each other to get a good look.

Rick made it to Chief Watson's office and walked in without knocking, slamming the door (her's didn't have the luxury of automatic doors like up at the Skyscraper) so hard that the glass inside of it shattered into a million pieces.

"He's gonna punch her lights out…" Bishop muttered to her little sister.

"I'm just glad it's not me." Starbuck concurred.

* * *

 **Next:**

 **Rick had to deal with this new version of Michonne, one way or another.**

 **REPLICANT™ Michonne is introduced to the world, and The Family witnesses firsthand what she's capable of.**

 **A confrontation brews between Rick and REPLICANT™ Michonne as she begins to adjust to her new life (and the Family gets used to her).**

 **As usual, you'll find the music I listened to writing each chapter, plus visuals for more world buildy goodness on the ole tumblr (search: "kendrawriter, "machine heart inspiration", "that song is so richonne").**

 **-Kendra**


	9. the tenth day, part i

_Written to the musical score of…_

" _Rachel's Song", Vangelis (Blade Runner)_

* * *

 _ **[Booting…]**_

 _ **[Personal Archive, REPLICANT™ Snow.001]**_

 **…**

 _ **Old Towne Hotel Tower**_

 _ **Outer-District Border/Level 3...**_

 _ **03/21/2077...**_

 **…**

Michonne was staring at her hands.

 _These are_ _ **my**_ _hands._..she thought. A fact. And yet a mystery.

She had seen them before. And yet she was seeing them for the very first time with these eyes. Curious, the mixed signals sparking inside her at the sight of two things as standard as hands.

And there was something more.

An awareness so vast, so beyond what could be labeled as mere "sight" that she could only sit still and let it overwhelm her, gazing down at herself under the harsh white light.

She could also see (with just a small amount of concentration) thousands of microscopic hairs, layers upon layers of skin cells; even down into the follicles from which they grew. To the naked human eye, this was skin. But to Michonne's vision, this was an intricately complex tapestry. Millions of strands of organic and cybernetic tissue cells tightly woven together, teeming with data - from the pigmentation of her skin to her ability to sense the slight chill in the room.

Each cell held information. Each and every strand was carrying out a command. To "feel" the air or the mist or the sun. To perceive "touch", like that of the man whose voice roused her to consciousness. To download and categorize the "senses" like any human might instinctively, without notice. She could see the handywork of the microbots that constructed every inch of her in every pore.

In her few short minutes of existence, Michonne knew that her "vision" reached far and beyond what it…what it "used to"...? When she was...had she been...human? Yes. She had been. There was information there. Thirty years of data. A digital footprint abruptly cut short and left unchecked in netspace, centered around one Captain Michonne Snow. _She_ had been Michonne. _She_ had been human. At least, that was what her positronic brain had been built - programmed, grown, invented, all - to know.

What was she now…?

She knew something like an answer without having to think about it for more than a millisecond. She was much more than human, though human was what seemed familiar to her. Familiar and yet inaccurate.

Underneath this skin, she could feel bone and sinew, but also an adamantine core that fortified her from the inside out. She suspected that if this tower collapsed on top of her right now, she could withstand it.

She could not conclude what this all meant in relation to her current environment. Only that beyond her hands, there was an infinite universe of data that her positronic neural pathways were starting to process.

She could only allow a small amount of it to register at a time, as though pulling back a heavy curtain to reveal the brilliant, blinding sunshine, inch by inch.

Her eyes moved from her hands to the rest of her, her gaze making a slow, carefully scrutinizing odyssey across this vessel - this body.

She sat on the examination table in Dr. Jones' lab, staring at herself. It was all at once familiar, foreign, and highly-stimulating; the lean, dark skinned body, the tightly coiled spools of thick hair hanging down her shoulders, the slender fingers of the hands.

Narrow, graceful feet. Toned legs and calves. Strong thighs. Narrow waist giving way to a round, muscular backside. Perfectly toned arms. Her shoulders felt perfectly aligned, her back and posture straight; at ease. Michonne looked down at her medium-sized, round, smooth breasts. The scar on her right thigh. The small discoloration on her left wrist; what the cloud revealed to her as being called a 'birth mark'.

She had seen these things before...but where... _when…_? In what lifetime, what universe, what realm of netspace? Did it matter? She could not conclude. All she knew was that she'd been made to exist again, now.

She was...alive.

Blood coursed through her veins. She had a heartbeat; a pulse. She was breathing. She was flesh, bone, and unbreakable alloy. She was an infinitely complex matrix of organic matter and wiring, programming, instinct, fragments of data from a life cut short - and something more that she could not identify at the moment.

All this, she realized in the few minutes she'd been sitting perfectly still, gazing down at herself.

Michonne frowned at her body now, trying to come to terms with what she was seeing; trying to reconcile it with what she remembered from before she opened her eyes and found herself lying on this table.

Darkness. But before that? Vast, empty netspace. And before _that…_?

A face. A voice. With a...Southern...twang?

What was a Southern twang? Michonne found herself asking the question in her mind, and one second later she knew every variant, definition and use of the phrase in existence. This information appeared and began to stream through her positronic net at the mere behest of a single thought. It felt like a rush. A high. It felt like power. But these were not the answers she wanted. This data did not connect her to the face that produced the surge of sensation inside of her. Or the actual voice that belonged to the "twang".

 _I'm comin' after your kill count...and then I'm comin' after_ _ **you**_ _..._

Michonne wanted to hear this voice again. Very much. In person. Produced by the _source_.

Where was he?

Rick.

The thought and its resulting sensation jolted through her in a fierce current a second time. She could not name this desire yet, except that she believed it was some form of just that - desire. Her first sense of emotion in all of her five minutes, thirty-nine seconds of existence. Caused by a name and a memory.

Instead of that very specific voice with that very specific 'twang', Michonne heard another.

"Take your time…" Dr. Jones spoke up gently. "I know this must all be...very overwhelmin'."

And she remembered that she was not alone.

She was in the lab, and the man with the kind face who'd been here when she woke was still nearby. As was what Michonne immediately recognized - though only because her mind served her the information after a single glance - as DATA, the only android in existence.

DATA inclined his head at Michonne in greeting, standing near her examination table with his hands folded behind his back. His yellow eyes were cataloging every strip of information from her physical appearance, demeanor, and reaction to her surroundings as he gazed at her benignly.

"I believe she recognizes me, doctor." DATA surmised correctly, raising his eyebrows with a mixture of 'intrigue' and 'surprise' registering across his silver-skinned features.

"Quite right of her, too." Dr. Jones smiled proudly, crossing his arms as he watched his two creations interact for the first time.

"You're DATA." Michonne answered, ignoring the surprise hearing her own voice for the first time caused. She was attempting to complete a personal file of him to contain all the information being served to her at the speed of thought. "You're an android. Created by Dr. Morgan Jones fourteen years ago. You're one of a kind."

"That is correct. Like yourself." DATA answered her matter-of-factly, taking a step toward her while Dr. Jones looked on in wonder. "I am not certain how much you're aware of at present. Your positronic net is quite new; your neural pathways still forming, after all."

"I'm inside the machine laboratory at the Old Towne Hotel tower. I think. I'm on an exam table. I've been sitting here for six minutes...now."

"Correct again." DATA confirmed.

"What...am I?" Michonne asked DATA, offering a deeply thoughtful frown.

DATA turned slightly to Dr. Jones, who nodded silently, granting his permission.

"You are a REPLICANT™. The very first of your kind in existence, and _one_ -of-a-kind, like myself. However, you are not an android, nor are you a cyborg. You are also not a hybrid."

"You are wholly unique, Michonne." Dr. Jones now breathed, drawing her attention to him. His face was still kind, though his eyes and brow were weighed with serious contemplation. "The very first _human_ REPLICANT™ I ever made. I never thought…" He shook his head in awe, staring at her.

"You're Dr. Morgan Jones." She told him, matching that kind face with the information she was beginning to gather about him.

DATA's creator. He was everywhere in the cloud, his name held meaning. He was the cause of innovation, passionate debate, and the end of years of bloody, tragic war.

"You...created me?"

His smile faltered as he nodded again. He looked somewhat troubled, even saddened, by his answer.

" _God_ made you, child, thirty-six years ago. All I did was...pay homage to his grace. As much as I could."

Michonne's frown hardened. "I don't understand."

Dr. Jones stepped forward toward the table while DATA examined Michonne with the holoscanner.

"What do you remember?" He gazed at her encouragingly, staring deep into her eyes. At the word 'remember', Michonne tilted her head at him, searching. Were these unbidden images and sensations of a voice and a face and feeling so strong it lit her up inside...were these called 'memories'? "You said a name when you woke. Anythin' else you remember? What other names, records, facts can you recall?"

DATA scanned her brain while she thought about it. The name and the face. The voice she couldn't shake.

Rick.

And Glenn.

Maggie.

Abraham.

Sasha.

Carl. Judith. Mike.

Andre.

And so many others. Men and women she had fought alongside. They shared many laughs together. Showers together. _Many_ battles. Some sunrises. Affection. Comradery. A long journey, during which they lost many and nearly starved, before the records of their feats from all over the Safe Zone began. Music. Always music. Music that traversed time through the cloud, way back when art and creative expression were abundant commodities.

And a disembodied voice, always there, always watching. Preserving it all. LIZZY.

History and infinity and present tense all in the same stream of data. Producing a strong sense of 'home' that was totally unlike the stark reality of sitting naked, draped in a lab coat, on an examination table in a cavernous, chilly, abandoned hotel tower.

There was much more. Too much to process quickly; too unstable an experience for her six-minute-old brain. So she focused on the one face that stood out above all the rest. A slow grin. An ocean of affection contained in a pair of deep blue eyes.

"His name is Rick." She answered, turning back to DATA. "And I am Michonne. That much I know."

Again, DATA's eyebrows quirked as he searched his net archives for something resembling 'tact'. "Yes. You are the REPLICANT™ version of Captain Michonne Snow, a renowned peacekeeper here in the Alexandria Safe Zone. And I believe the 'Rick' you named is the equally renowned Captain Rick Grimes...your former partner."

Partner. That word seemed familiar, but it did not seem to do justice to the persistent expectation to see him, hear his voice. Rick. "Where is he?"

Dr. Jones stepped closer to her, placing a hand on the examination table next to her. "You'll see him again, in due time. But for now, I need you to listen carefully, Michonne. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes." She stared at him, committing every line and fold to her permanent memory. She familiarized herself with the kindness she found there. She listened carefully.

"We don't have much time." Dr. Jones said seriously, urgently. "I have a lot to teach you, and only a few days to do it. The Smiths are gonna come back for you...and then...well I'm afraid your fate is out of my hands." He scoffed, eyeing her in melancholy wonder. She saw emotion behind his expression, it moved across his features like a ripple in an otherwise still lake. "They _made_ me create you. And now they're gonna rip you outta my arms before either of us are ready. But that's just how cruel the world is that you're bein' born into. I'm sorry."

"I don't understand."

Dr. Jones nodded slowly. "I know. You have a lot to learn, my child. I think we'll start by havin' DATA here answer any questions you have. Then _rest_. And we'll begin the real work tomorrow. DATA? Take good care of her."

Michonne understood the conversation to be over, though she had more questions. Dr. Jones's aging human body looked to be quite fatigued suddenly, however. He looked as though he needed rest of his own.

She wasn't tired.

She wasn't sure, but she didn't know if she would _ever_ be tired. Or possess the fatigue she could see effecting Dr. Jones from his posture to his gait to his breathing pattern.

She wanted to believe she could 'rest', but she doubted it. Michonne turned to DATA. Dr. Jones had said that the android would answer any questions she had. He was not human and didn't require rest either.

"Of course. Goodnight, doctor."

DATA watched Dr. Jones make his way to his meditation room, standing perfectly still until the door slid closed and they were alone together. Then he turned and ended the holoscanning program he'd been using to get readings of Michonne. His yellow eyes rose to hers and he stood at ease.

"Your first question, Captain Snow?" He understood how insatiably curious she was, then. Of course.

* * *

The sun would be up in forty-seven minutes, but DATA was still answering questions.

This would become Michonne's habit. Days spent learning. Nights spent reflecting. She adapted well to her environment.

Tonight, Michonne's interrogation of DATA was quite nearly ceaseless, as she thought of something new to ask him every thirty seconds. Sometimes every twenty-tree. He showed her every level of the tower. Where Dr. Jones stored things, where they manufactured prototypes, the training facilities, the showers (which he did not require, but sometimes indulged in as 'practice'), the food dispensaries. He told her about how her 'vessel' worked, answering that Michonne required sustenance, but at a much slower rate than normal human beings. If she pushed herself and had no other choice, she could survive one hundred days without it, sixty days without water. Otherwise her vessel would shut down, slowing every cell in her body to a near standstill to conserve energy and life functions until she could be replenished.

But she was constructed to function, for the most part, like a human, with various 'upgrades' along the way.

"Your eyesight is one hundred times sharper than a human's, microscopic when you concentrate." He informed her as he slowly escorted her through the windy, aging halls of the fourth level, where they kept the greenhouse.

He had explained to her about the walker plague that nearly wiped out the earth's survivor and territory wars that followed. Dr. Jones's discovery of artificial intelligence, borne from walker technology, and the creation of the United Colonies for Peace across what was left of the world.

Now he intended to show her how they had survived, when half their species had gone extinct. The greenhouse was the center of the universe, as far as artificial life on planet Earth was concerned. It was Dr. Jones's personal Eden.

And Michonne was his Eve.

Michonne looked around, seeing the dust mites floating in the air around them. DATA was correct about her eyesight.

"You can hear on several different frequencies, though not simultaneously. As far as strength and agility…" DATA raised an eyebrow as they walked, and Michonne focused on his exact expression, committing it to memory. "Your inner skeleton is made from the strongest metal alloy on earth, and you would have no problem besting a grizzly bear, or outrunning a cheetah. Though, the full potential of your abilities will need to be tested, and developed over time."

They reached the greenhouse, and DATA bent to allow JENNY to scan his retina.

The doors slid open for them, and he stood aside to allow Michonne to enter before him.

Inside, there was a vast forest full of plantlife, wildlife, insects, birds, and even a waterfall she could hear hidden somewhere within, emptying down into some distant cavern at the bottom of the tower. The space was as vast as an entire level, almost, but for the corridor they took to get here.

Michonne stood very still, taking it all in. Everything her eyes, senses, and mind could pinpoint and process.

Owls hooted.

Crickets chirped.

Snails crawled along.

Butterflies fluttered.

Snakes hung from the branches of some of the trees.

Plants stretched toward the approaching dawn.

All of these creatures were emitting positronic signals, all unique. All REPLICANT™.

But _none_ as sophisticated a design as she.

Michonne walked further into the room, her eyes closed, feeling her way from the way each and every unique signal called out to her. She catalogued them all as she went, feeling the birds flying above her head, the insects buzzing around her like radio waves, the plants filling her lungs with oxygen.

DATA watched with equal concentration.

After a moment, he followed, noticing an artificial mosquito landing on Michonne's arm.

She snapped at it, crushing it without even having to look at it.

DATA frowned as a bot came zipping toward them from out of nowhere to clean her arm of the carcass.

Michonne watched the bot work, frowning.

"If you would please, try not to destroy Dr. Jones's prototypes." The android suggested gently. "He oversaw the construction of each and every one. He considers them…" DATA tilted his head, his brows raising. "His children."

"Like me." Michonne posited.

"Yes. Like you."

"I'm sorry," she offered him after taking a moment to assess what she identified as remorse passing through her. "I won't do that again. It just...felt like something I would do. I don't think I like bugs."

DATA offered her something akin to a smile. "A memory. Good. That's very good."

After letting her spend a little more time in the greenhouse, which was more like a miniature jungle, DATA showed Michonne to her sleeping quarters. She still did not feel tired, but she followed him inside obediently. He and Dr. Jones had been kind to her, and she felt compelled to listen to them, even though she wanted nothing more than to find Rick.

Dr. Jones told her she would see him in due time. So she would wait. For now.

She did still have a lot to process, and learn, after all.

"I understand that sleep is a concept you are not yet fully accustomed to." DATA told her before he left her alone. "So, for now, simply try to be still and connect to your memories. Explore them. Examine them. Do not be afraid of unanswered questions, or even memories that register as painful to you. The more you allow your neural processor to develop of its own will, the more _Michonne_ you will become."

She frowned at him, considering his advice.

"I will return soon to start your combat training. Dr. Jones will eventually show you how to meditate - something we come to think of as 'sleep' for those of use irrevocably tethered to netspace."

"But he's human. Why does he do it? Doesn't he sleep?"

"Dr. Jones is not like most humans. He works night and day. Meditation keeps him sane, he would say. Goodnight, Captain."

"DATA?" Michonne called out to him one more time before he left. DATA paused in the doorway, tilting his head back to listen. "Why am I alive? _Why_ have I been created?"

Without moving an inch, DATA answered: "In some respects, it is intended that you should bring hope to the citizens of the Safe Zone again. In others...I believe you are a product of humanity's necessary evolution. Perhaps even a catalyst for its _revolution_. Time will tell."

"Thank you."

"You are always welcome, Captain. Michonne. I will see you at oh-eight-hundred. Sharp."

When she was alone again, Michonne called out to the darkness. "JENNY. Are you there?"

" _Yes, Michonne, I am here."_

JENNY's patient voice sounded out to her.

Michonne had become aware of JENNY as DATA showed her around. She felt she was aware of many, many more COMPANION™ entities, hovering in netspace, but she didn't dare go near them. Not yet. They were strangers to her.

"Open the viewers. Please?"

" _Of course."_

JENNY opened the wall-to-wall viewers in her room, and Michonne walked toward the vast, misty, twinkling scene spread out before her. The city of towers. She looked out over the the sky bridges and zooming flyers, wondering where - in all of this - was Rick Grimes, the man with the beautiful eyes and Southern twang?

* * *

 _ **[Personal Archive, Android DATA]**_

…

 _ **Old Towne Hotel Tower...**_

 _ **Training Room, Level Five..**_

 _ **03/21/2077...**_

…

 **Day I**

 **08:15**

"Jeet Kune Do." DATA announced.

Michonne immediately shot out her right fist, pivoting sideways with her back foot. If DATA were a lesser opponent, or a human, she'd have smashed in his eye socket. As it happened, he was able to block her attack, though he found himself sliding back exactly three centimeters.

She was stronger than him, and it was her first blow.

"Excellent." He raised an approving eyebrow. "Again."

Again, Michonne attacked, and this time she did not stop. DATA easily blocked her advances at first, but she adapted quickly, doubling up her efforts with the speed of thought, of rapidly intensified instinct, catching him in the ribs, arms, back, legs, the side of his 'skull'.

DATA was a quick study himself, and was able to keep up with her as they sparred fluidly, confidently around the vast, open space.

In the shadows, Dr. Jones watched, allowing one of his bots to refill his coffee cup.

"Kung Fu." DATA announced without warning, switching his style without any preamble or stumble.

Michonne called forth every technique of attack or defense in the cloud, and they danced.

It was her Tiger against his Crane. They moved so fast their movements blurred. Their blows so deadly, they tore chunks out of the floor, walls, and pillars surrounding them.

"Kendo." DATA tossed Michonne a katana, and she caught it mid-air, unsheathing it as she flipped backward, instinctively using both its casing and the sword itself to best him.

When she faced him again, he held two katanas in his hands, his stance perfect, and he was advancing on quick, nimble feet. They sparred faster, with deadlier force, their blades slicing against each other, causing sparks as they both tried and failed to remove a limb, cut through flesh. DATA sliced off half Michonne's locs on her right side as she lithely bent over backward and flipped away to avoid being decapitated.

"Hapkido."

Michonne growled, tossing her sword into the floor, and charged him.

"Kickboxing."

"Pencak Silat."

"Gaunlet."

"Short swords."

"Daggers."

"Staves."

"Kajukenbo."

"That's enough, DATA." Dr. Jones finally interrupted when they'd brought each other to an unbreakable stalemate, trapping each other with rapid-fire defensive blows.

The pressure was so intense that they were making craters in the concrete flooring that were growing steadily wider as they crumbled inward inch by inch under the weight of both DATA and Michonne's strength.

DATA released her and immediately stepped back, at ease.

Michonne slowly stood up straight, too, relaxing.

Dr. Jones walked onto the floor, now finally bathed in the light from the open viewers on the levels above them. He nodded at DATA to stand by, and turned to offer Michonne another of his kind smiles.

"How did that feel, Michonne?" He asked gently. "Did it jog any memories for you? You used to be a formidable peacekeeper. Now it seems you're far more advanced that I'd ever hoped."

Michonne breathed, not tired in the slightest, but certainly overwhelmed with stimulation. Memories, perhaps, yes. She found her gaze shifting toward the katana still buried by the tip of its blade into the flooring.

"I had a sword. Like that one. Always. Except mine had been altered. Where is it?" She turned to look from DATA to Dr. Jones.

"We don't know…" Morgan answered her somberly. "But if it belonged to you in your old life, you'll find your way back to it. That's how this is supposed to work."

Michonne still didn't quite understand her purpose, but she nodded anyway.

"Shall we begin HV-weapons training now, doctor?" DATA inquired.

Morgan observed his creation for a moment longer, but finally gave his consent to move on.

They didn't have much time to waste, after all.

* * *

 **Day III**

 **01:29**

"Now, take a deep breath…" Morgan's gentle, low voice guided Michonne as they sat cross-legged, facing each other in his meditation chamber. "In and out...that's it. Quiet your mind…

Let it go blank…

Now let it wander...don't instruct it...just...let it be…

Where are you now, Michonne?"

Michonne was floating in netspace. Aimless. Lost. Feeling as though she didn't belong.

And that familiar voice called out to her.

 _I'm comin' after your kill count...and then I'm comin' after_ _ **you**_ _..._

"I hear him." She answered, her eyelids shifting with her rapidly moving visions. She saw him, too. Rick. Those blue eyes like a cloudless sky on a clear summer morning. That slow grin. "We're going to war."

Michonne was suddenly thrust into chaos.

There were cyborgs. Firefights. A giant tank. Walkers. Blood. Gore. Death. Explosions.

One explosion in particular.

"Michonne?" Dr. Jones heard her beginning to hyperventilate, and he tore his eyes open to glare at her with concern.

She was falling.

She was perspiring and breathing rapidly, her face contorted as she was assaulted by memories, her synapsis sparking and sending emotions shooting through her with the speed that data moved through the cloud.

Dr. Jones reached up and clapped his hands together in front of her, sharply and loudly.

Michonne was yanked violently back to the present, taking in huge gulps of air.

" _Michonne_. This is only a manifestation of what humans call a panic attack." He spoke to her calmly as she tried to stop the flood of sensation from overwhelming this days-old vessel. "Be still. _Will_ yourself to calm. You are far more advanced than any human on this earth. You are a REPLICANT™. You are my creation. And these are only memories...they can't harm you now."

At his soothing, though commanding words, she began to still. She realized that she controlled every particle of her body, and willed herself calm, as he instructed her to. She sat motionless before him, her breathing having slowed to a steady, passive crawl.

Her eyes finally met his, and he waited. "I died, didn't I? In some kind of...brutal fight."

Morgan nodded, the calm, peaceful atmosphere around them beginning to fill with tension. He allowed her to process; to sift through the memories her mediation had brought forth. He and DATA had made a difficult, but conscious choice to include every detail of Michonne Snow's life that they could find in the archives. They left no stone of data unturned. It was their intent that she be as human - as _Michonne_ \- as possible. This was the way. Spontaneous cognitive development. He had managed to _design_ it.

And he was watching it unfold before him. He could not help marveling at his creation every second he spent in her company, falling more and more in love with their shared triumph.

She moved and spoke like a human being. Though imbued with such grace and beauty as to be ethereal to behold. She processed emotions in real time and wore them like a second skin. Her voice and pattern of speech was changing seamlessly, growing more mature, more self-assured. With each new minute that she existed, she was learning, retaining, _becoming_.

If this moment was not meant to be about her, he might cry, himself.

Instead, he chose to answer her very serious question. A miracle of a question.

"Yes. You were. It was a tragedy for the entire city." He tried to reassure her. "You were mourned by many, Michonne."

"And the others?" Michonne recalled their names. Their faces. Their presence and influence in a life that felt achingly familiar and yet as distant as the endless realm of netspace. "Glenn. Abraham. Sasha. Maggie. Shane. 'Drea...?"

Dr. Jones shook his head. "Some of them survived and are still alive today. Some of them didn't." He touched her hand, like in her first moments as a newborn. "When you go back, you'll have to figure out how to handle their reactions. They're human, and you were close. They probably won't understand at first...they may even be hostile. But you are _Michonne_. Every bit as Michonne as you used to be. You don't let them forget that. And you'll be fine."

"Rick?" She searched his face. "Will _he_ understand? Will he...recognize me?"

"He means a lot to you, doesn't he?" He gave her hand a squeeze. "You've mentioned him more than the others. In fact, he's the only one you've come back to. Since you opened your eyes."

He thought about it for a moment as Michonne struggled to find the words to describe the memory of Rick Grimes. The way it made her feel. What was it...the emotion?

Morgan suddenly beamed at her. "You _love_ him. Don't you?"

At the sound of the word, the memories began to soar inside her, and she found her eyes were wet with tears. It felt right. She had found her purpose. "Yes. I love him. I need to see him. I need him to know I'm here. I think...I came back...for _him_."

"Then _hold on to that_ , Michonne." Dr. Jones insisted, bringing her hand to his lips to kiss before wrapping it up with the palm of the other as well. "That feelin' will be your way back to yourself. Love is the strongest human emotion there is. Trust it. Use it. It won't steer you wrong." He chuckled, reaching out to wipe at the tears streaming down her flawless cheeks. "At least, not by much."

She nodded, smiling back. "I will."

* * *

 **Day IV**

 **04:04**

Michonne was meditating in her quarters, but her mind would only show her Rick.

There were other memories, locked away. Memories that would cause her pain, she could sense.

Still, she found more and more to do with Rick Grimes.

The first time she saw him, behind a prison fence. He had saved her life that day, and kept on doing it, again, and again, and again.

Some sunrise, or two, or three she'd spent with him, sitting next to him inside a flyer. Smiling across at him. How beautiful he was in the sunlight.

Saving his life in return, again, and again, and again.

Runs together. Missions together. Showering together. Making love together.

Michonne opened her eyes.

She felt heat flood her senses. A fluttering in her gut. Her pulse increase. Other reactions, nuanced yet intense - the hardening of her nipples, the quivering of her sex. Rick caused these sensations. Thinking of his pink lips, his salt and pepper hair, his gleaming blue eyes.

"JENNY." Michonne called out, standing up.

" _Hey, sweetie. What can I do for you?"_

"Do you have archival footage of Captain Rick Grimes?"

" _Ah. I was wondering when you'd get around to asking me for that. Stand by…"_

JENNY projected a life-sized hologram of the man Michonne had been remembering with increasingly intense emotional attachment since the moment she was reborn.

He was standing at nearly six feet, leaning slightly to the side, shifting around as though posing for a picture. He wore a button-down shirt, a pair of old jeans, worn boots. He carried a machete and a big gun - a Colt Python, souped up. His curly brown hair was slicked back, a light layer of salt and pepper hair covered his chiseled jaw. He lifted his hand to shield his eyes from an unseen sun as Michonne watching in motionless awe.

She walked slowly toward the hologram, doing as Dr. Jones had instructed - letting herself feel. Remember.

She stood very close to him. He merely gazed past her, out through her viewers

Her Rick.

She was in love with him, she concluded. Every inch of him. Every pore. Every flaw. Every breath he took. Rick kept shifting around, shielding his eyes, squinting into the sun.

Music.

Michonne suddenly wanted to hear music. One song in particular.

"JENNY."

" _Yes, Michonne, I'm here."_

"Play 'Blem', by Drake. I believe it's from - ?"

" _Summer of the year two-thousand-seventeen, yes, I've found it. Playing back, now."_

The song began to flood the room, and Michonne began to dance. She carefully, gracefully circled the hologram, and the way it moved as it posed for its picture in a never ending loop almost passed for some dance moves, too. She found herself smiling, watching Rick 'move' with her, and she made one more request of JENNY:

"Tell me everything about him. About us. Start to finish." Dr. Jones said Rick was her way back to herself. She trusted him. This felt _right_.

JENNY complied:

" _Captain Rick Grimes, forty-four-years-old. Born in the wilds of what was once Georgia. Peacekeeper of the Alexandria Safe Zone for nine years. Partnered with you, Captain Michonne Snow for three and one-half-years. Nine-hundred-two kills registered to the cloud to date. Son, Carl Grimes, seventeen years old. Daughter, Judith Grimes, eight years old. Wife, Lori Grimes, forty-one-years-old…"_

Michonne stopped dancing. Wife. Lori Grimes. She listened as JENNY continued her report. Rick's hologram kept gazing into the distance, stoic and handsome.

" _Marriage date, unknown. Divorced, five years, four months. Mr. Grimes is one of eighteen survivors of the Skyscraper Command Tower explosion. File Code: GATUS. From that explosion - Deceased, Glenn Rhee. Deceased, Theodore 'T-Dog' Douglass. Deceased - "_

"Stop." Michonne interrupted JENNY finally. "Stop the music, too."

She stared at Rick's hologram, longing for him to be real, as the music faded away. But he wasn't. Michonne's only reality now was how much she'd lost. How much she still did not understand.

"Start from the beginning. Tell me about GATUS. About the explosion."

" _Would you like archival footage or a verbal report?"_

"Both."

Rick's hologram disappeared, and a holoscreen took its place. The footage from that night began to play out before her as JENNY recounted the records of what happened.

The night GATUS tricked them. The night she died.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **Shout out to the very talented YelleHughes for designing a kickass banner featuring a VERY sexy REPLICANT™ Michonne! You can find it and other inspiring visuals on my tumblr.**

 **Part 2 coming ASAP!**

 **-Kendra**


	10. the tenth day, part ii

_so I'm running away,_

 _running too late,_

 _running to stay_

 _maybe i'll stumble upon a magic wand,_

 _a treasure, a rocket,_

 _a place to belong_

\- "Place To Belong", Little Dragon

* * *

 _ **[Rebooting…]**_

 _ **[Personal Archive, REPLICANT™ Snow.001]**_

…

 _ **Old Towne Hotel Tower...**_

 _ **Michonne's Personal Quarters..**_

…

 **Day V**

 **06:31**

JENNY had recounted the official report in the cloud archive pertaining to the Skyscraper explosion twenty-one times.

Michonne sat in meditation pose, as she had done yesterday morning for hours, listening, watching.

"Again, please." She spoke, her only movement since DATA left her alone four hours ago.

JENNY's voice sounded patient, but odd. Almost...maternal.

" _Michonne._ _ **Captain.**_ _The report will_ _ **not**_ _change on the twenty-second playback. This is the only archival data that exists in the cloud. Officially published by Skyscraper Command."_

Michonne shook her head furiously, feeling frustrated for the first time in her merely days-old existence. She tried to do as Dr. Jones had been teaching her, to control these new 'emotions', to remember that she could will every part of her existence to do as she pleased.

She tried to calm herself.

Instead she began to pace.

"But this report is not accurate." She grit her teeth, watching her feet move in perfectly straight lines, criss-crossing each other as she turned back and forth to walk the length of her room. A room that appeared to be growing smaller with each passing day. "Something's _missing_."

" _Dr. Jones did explain that your memories are not complete. You need to spend considerable time interacting and learning from humans to produce further 'spontaneous' development of your neural pathways. Especially those that meant something to you. Like your Rick Grimes, sweetie."_

JENNY gently reminded her.

Michonne paused.

Rick.

Maybe she could figure out what she couldn't reconcile from this 'official' report and the sporadic memories she found while she meditated through _him_. Maybe she could trust Dr. Jones's advice to...follow her heart? Yes. She _would_.

"What happened to Captain Rick Grimes? The other surviving peacekeepers?"

JENNY seemed only too happy to move on from the explosion archives.

" _When construction completed on Skyscraper Command Tower Two, all peacekeeping precincts were subsumed by President Deanna Monroe's decree, under the direct supervision of The Smiths…"_

Michonne listened carefully, and looked up as JENNY showed her footage of the ribbon cutting at the new tower. Various news footage of some of the press conferences announcing the changes at the precincts, some of the memorial services.

" _The peacekeeping headquarters, Bottom-District Twelve appointed a new commander, Chief Dallas Watson, formerly Chief of Security at Command. The Smiths and President Monroe also decreed COMPANION™ programs mandatory for all citizens of the Alexandria Safe Zone…"_

JENNY went on, but Michonne shook her head again. Something was still _**missing**_.

"What about _me_?" She interrupted, walking through the holoscreen footage to look out through her viewers. "What do the archives report about my creation?"

" _File Code: Restricted."_

She frowned at her reflection in the viewers. "The President? Did she order it? Why?"

" _File Code: Restricted."_

Michonne spun around and glared at the footage and personnel data on Chief Dallas Watson.

"The Smiths? Dr. Jones said they were coming to take me away from here. _**Why?**_ "

She demanded, unable to stop herself from feeling a surge of emotion - frustration, anger, despair, panic.

" _I am sorry, Michonne…"_

JENNY finally answered, powering down the holoscreen.

" _File Code...Restricted."_

Michonne stood very still and willed herself to calm down. It seemed that JENNY was responding to her bio readings. Finally, her breathing regulated, her temperature lowering, her pulse slowing, she spoke again to the semi-dark.

"JENNY? Show me The Smiths. Please."

After a moment of silence and dimness, the room filled with a dozen identical holograms of one man.

Michonne froze, her eyes wide, as she stared at the intimidating figure, multiplied over and over again.

He was tall, pale, dressed in a black suit. He wore dark sunglasses covering his eyes, but Michonne felt tracked by his artificially produced gaze, nonetheless.

He - _they_ \- stood with perfect poise, hands in fists at his sides. He scanned the room mutely, his dark 'eyes' tracking every corner of it. Passing over her, pausing on her, passing over her again. His clones mimicked his movements in perfect sync.

" _The Smiths...bio-engineered human-cybernetic hybrids. Clones."_

JENNY began her report.

" _Currently there are thirteen Smiths in existence. Generated from the donated DNA of Peacekeeper Cane Smith of former Chicago…"_

The Smith holograms snarled, cracking their necks under their crisp, tight collars. As if agitated by the data flow that produced them, the cloud archive pumping information about them through JENNY's mainframe.

Michonne felt that if she concentrated...she could recognize the presence of the _real_ Smiths, hooked into netspace, beyond the cloud. They didn't belong there. But they had staked a claim.

They were searching for something…

Michonne registered that the hairs in her skin were standing on end. She had gotten the chills. What an odd sensation. Almost like fear. She willed herself calm again.

But she understood, now, why Dr. Jones spoke of them with such unease. Why DATA was reticent to give her a direct answer about the purpose of her creation. She did not like The Smiths.

"And what about now?" She asked, moving on from the unpleasant feelings these Smith creatures imposed on her. "What's going on out there _right now?_ "

JENNY ended the hologram projections of The Smiths. A few seconds later, a holoscreen showed Michonne archival footage of the state of affairs in the Alexandria Safe Zone, and beyond it, The Gates of Hell.

There were riots. There was a menacing man, Negan. He was calling for chaos. Disorder. War, if his demands were not met. The United Councils were buckling down, refusing to negotiate, looking to the President for a show of strength against those of Negan's ilk.

The Peacekeepers were embroiled in internal turmoil. Politics had begun to take over everything.

"They need me…" Michonne whispered, taking it all in.

"Yes." Came Dr. Jones's voice from the doorway, behind the holoscreen. "They do. _Rick_ does."

* * *

 **Day VII**

 **08:05**

When Michonne did not report to the training room on Level Five at oh-eight-hundred sharp, as she had every day since the day she was created, DATA went to retrieve her.

It was possible that since she had been learning to behave more like a human, she was simply 'running late'. That would be a fascinating development in her progress. She was young, but she was an insatiable learner and she was maturing undoubtedly faster than Dr. Jones had hoped. She had even bested DATA twice in their last sparring match.

DATA could not help 'looking forward' to how Michonne would adapt to him today.

He found Michonne standing motionless in front of a holoscreen that presented as a mirror, staring at her reflection. She had cut her locs into a short, stylish bob.

DATA raised his eyebrows. "In future, may I suggest simply tying your hair back from your face during training?"

Michonne finally turned to face him, coming alive from her intense scrutiny of herself, and she raised an eyebrow of her own. "Was that...a _joke_ , DATA?"

DATA lowered his gaze, tilting his head to consider her query. He took a breath and finally answered, nodding: "Yes, Michonne, it _was_ my attempt at being humorous. Also, to put you at ease about your...aesthetic choice. That is to say, you look...nice."

Michonne beamed at him. "So you like it?"

DATA composed his features into a smile. "If I were capable of feeling emotion, I believe in this moment I would feel...pleased."

"Do you think Rick will like it?"

" _He would be crazy not to. Right, DATA?"_

JENNY reassured her sweetly.

DATA merely frowned. "I cannot say, but this style _is_ in keeping with certain trends, according to my observations. That must count for something."

Since it appeared that their sparring session would need to be delayed, DATA stepped further into the room. He approached Michonne and stood at ease, gazing at her thoughtfully.

"Dr. Jones has informed me that you are worried about seeing your friends again. In particular, Captain Rick Grimes. Is this assessment correct?"

Michonne swallowed, but nodded. She did not like this feeling, either. It was new to her but already she was attempting to find ways to circumvent it. It didn't feel natural to her, if she would ever truly know what natural for Michonne Snow felt like.

"Yes." She answered truthfully. "So much has changed. I don't want him to..."

DATA studied Michonne silently for a moment, and attempted to finish her thought. Her fear.

"You do not wish for him to believe he is seeing 'a ghost'. Or to reject you for being unnatural."

Michonne nodded.

DATA reached up to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder. The two creations of Dr. Morgan Jones, the genius in love with humanity and technology, were bonding, in their own way. For DATA had grappled with these same hypotheses - these same 'fears' - since he himself was created. Over the years, he found it more efficient to remain at Dr. Jones's side, helping him to crack the first code that could not make him as real as Michonne.

DATA attempted to do what their father, their creator, would do in this situation. A bonding moment. A teaching moment.

"Consider this..." She listened carefully. "Though you are Dr. Jones's creation, it was his full intention that you should possess _free will_. You are your own person. Like any other human, you must create your own destiny." DATA paused, calling back to similar 'teaching moments' between himself and his father. The good doctor, as The Smiths had called him. "If Captain Grimes is to be part of that destiny, it would only be because he respects you as you are. You _are_ Michonne. Remember - it is _your_ will alone that makes this the truth. Not the will of Captain Grimes, or anyone else."

He was DATA because he believed himself to be. Because he acted as DATA would. He was an android, an automaton - he could not become as 'human' as Michonne could. He could not feel emotion. But he had worked tirelessly, in all the moments of his existence, to exercise his free will. He did not stay by the doctor's side because he was a slave, or a mindless machine. He stayed because he wished to.

That was as close to human as DATA could ever be.

And it was, in part, due to the humanity of the man who created him.

Now thanks to the combined efforts of both the 'good doctor' and his android, Michonne could come so much closer. If she willed it.

When DATA focused his gaze on Michonne again, he found her eyes glistening with tears. She had been moved emotionally by what he said. She would make a fine human, yet.

"Thank you." Michonne whispered, reaching up to touch his cool, pale silver hand appreciatively.

"You are always welcome, Michonne."

* * *

 **Day X**

 **00:24**

Michonne was meditating.

She had been full of energy, searching the cloud for any signs of the missing fragments of memory that she could find. Willing these neural pathways everyone kept mentioning to 'spontaneously' connect the dots. So far, all she could sense were the same fragments. Waiting to be made whole.

She wanted to see Rick. Hear his voice. Touch him. _Kiss_ him. The _real_ him.

"Michonne? May we come in for a moment?" She heard Dr. Jones outside her door.

He was with DATA. They needn't have announced themselves. She knew they had been approaching.

Spending these days with them had allowed her to become acutely attuned to their biosignatures. DATA's body temperature never changed. His gait was always perfectly aligned and pressurized. His positronic signature still thriving, after fourteen years of running in peak condition.

Dr. Jones was his own symphony to her. She had fully committed them both to her permanent memory.

She couldn't wait to feel the symphony of Rick's living, breathing presence. She couldn't wait to hear his heartbeat for the first time, up close. To commit his entire being to her permanent memory, forever.

"Come in."

When they entered, Dr. Jones was carrying a small plate holding a...cupcake. The cupcake was adorned with blue icing and a single candle. A small, white 'number one'.

DATA held his hands behind his back. He was smiling, as was Dr. Jones.

"Happy birthday, Michonne Snow." Dr. Jones whispered, his eyes glistening in the light of the candle's single flame. "You opened your eyes at this exact moment, ten days ago."

Michonne rose gracefully to her feet, feeling overwhelmed. Feeling...sentiment. Surging through her.

"I _did_ , didn't I?" She gazed in awe at the candle, almost transfixed by it. In her positronic mind, she had of course been counting every second that passed since she woke. But this was now an _occasion_. Her first.

She looked up after a moment from DATA to the doctor, unsure of what to do.

Morgan chuckled softly. "Close your eyes, make a wish, and blow it out. Human tradition."

"Right. I knew that." She _did_ know that - as soon as she wondered about it. She was getting used to the infinite complexity of her mind, and its use of the cloud. Sort of. Michonne closed her eyes and held a single thought forth.

The most intense desire she could conjure. The one she'd had for nearly every moment of these last ten days, in all the new splendor of the world she'd been reborn into.

She blew out the candle.

DATA raised a hand, pressed it to his lips, and blew a tuft of silver and dark blue confetti from his palm, out into the air around them. Michonne looked up at it, watching it fall, almost able to slow it down with her shrewd vision. It looked beautiful. Romantic, even. Like prismatic rain.

"Taste it." Dr. Jones urged, slicing a piece of the cupcake with a small fork he produced from his coat pocket. The cake part was chocolate.

Michonne accepted the bite from his fork, her every sense coming alive with sensation. She really liked chocolate cupcake. "It's delicious. I think...I _love_ this."

"A lot of people do. Human and hybrid, alike." Jones grinned. "Besides, DATA is _quite_ an accomplished baker. You can't help but to love whatever he puts his mind to."

" _You_ made this, DATA?" Michonne raised her eyebrows as she continued chewing. Of course he had. It was perfectly delicious. Much more rich and flavorful than the food created in the dispensaries on the lower levels. She wanted to put the entire cupcake into her mouth, but she didn't wish to breach some human social cue she hadn't yet learned.

"Yes, I consider baking a relaxing hobby. I enjoy that it requires a greater level of precision and focus than one would assume. I am, apparently, 'naturally gifted' in both those qualities." DATA informed, revealing a small, black velvet box from behind his back. "We also brought you a gift."

She frowned at it, acutely aware of the fact that this was the first gift she had ever received - at least, in this life. Also a strange concept to ponder, how new and yet so familiar everything felt. Like fear. And love.

DATA offered Michonne the box while Morgan set the cupcake aside on her nightstand, looking on proudly. She took it, staring down at it. Touching the surface, registering the way the fabric felt against her fingertips. "Thank you…"

"We found it. At the blast site. Slung out into the void to fall where it may. Forgotten about." Dr. Jones explained. He shrugged somewhat sheepishly, cradling the cupcake plate. "Not quite a katana, but we thought...it might help you feel...more like yourself."

Michonne opened the box. Inside, there was a delicate, gold necklace with an 'M' attached to it.

The instant she saw it, she remembered. She wore this always. Even more than her katana. This necklace had been almost like armor. She found tears welling in her eyes, blurring her perfect vision.

"DATA, here gave it a nice shine. We had to replace the clasp, but...it's the real thing. It was yours, Michonne."

"I know." Michonne breathed, attempting to will herself not to cry. Except she _wanted_ this emotion, she realized. She felt...happy.

Suddenly, she felt an urge to do something. Try something. She reached forth and hugged DATA.

At first, she understood how it must take every ounce of his concentration, being an automaton, to be moveable for lesser beings. But Michonne was as strong, if not stronger than he. After three and a half seconds of adjusting to each other, DATA returned her embrace. "Thank you!"

And she released him, turning to offer the same to Dr. Jones. He was a thousand times more pliable, so she was gentle with him. He hugged her tightly, and she memorized every inch of him, her file now complete. She knew his heartbeat, the exact imprint of his touch, his breathing patterns, every inflection of his voice, the nuances of his body temperature, everything detectable by her senses. Forever.

DATA had informed Michonne that it could be like this for every being she came in contact with, but it didn't have to be. She could reserve this special, fixed place in her positronic memory for only those special to her, if she chose. The benefits of this permanent bond would surprise her, he had told her.

She already had a running list, with one name in particular at the top of it.

Morgan watched her reaction as she stepped back and removed the necklace from the box, her eyes fixed on it. It had triggered a memory, he could tell. She was a wonder of the world. She was beyond perfect. She'd surpassed every one of his expectations. With DATA's help, they had finally done it. He felt a surge of relief and awe. All those years...and finally, she was _here_ in the flesh. And adamantium.

And she was about to be taken away from him.

He sighed slowly, stepping up to her and gesturing for her to turn around. He took the necklace as she did so in one graceful, fluid motion, stilling as he draped it over her head.

The room was blanketed in reverent silence as he clasped the chain and let it fall to rest at the center point between her collarbones, crowning her elegant neck. He could see little flickers of confetti that had fallen to their resting place in her short, shining locs.

"Now…" he uttered, stepping back again. Michonne turned around, stroking the 'M' charm with her fingertips, smiling as though greeting an old friend. That was good to see. "I wish we could remain in this happy moment, Michonne. But we're out of time, I'm afraid."

She frowned, her gaze rising to meet his. DATA stood at attention as the doctor went on. He noted that their creator's expression was quite grave. The birthday celebration was over, unfortunately. It was time to prepare Michonne for the next stage of her reintroduction to the new world.

"The people that are comin' to get you - The Smiths."

"They are _not_ people." Michonne corrected him fiercely. "They're hybrids. Clones. And they aren't nice, either."

"You've been doin' your research…" Morgan appraised, impressed, but not surprised. He moved on quickly. "You're right, child. They aren't nice at all. But they have a mission for you. So does the president, Monroe."

"What does the president have to do with them? And me? Why _me?_ " She demanded, still having no answers from any of her 'research' sessions with JENNY.

"You must know by now that there's a great deal of turmoil brewin' just past those walls." He gestured to her viewers, where they had a picture of the outer district, the walls, and beyond them the wilds. Just past that were The Gates of Hell, their not so distant neighbor, their enemy. Where they sent their foulest. "The citizens here and other safe zones are startin' to despair. If Negan has his way, it'll be _war_."

Michonne let what he was saying to her wash over her, calling forth the images and reports and endless lists of the dead from the survivor wars of her past life. She had grown up in the ruins, in the wilds, and fought tooth and nail for every scrap of sanity and safety she possessed.

At least, that is what the archives told of Captain Michonne Snow. She had very little connection to that past now. Just fragments. All she knew was that she did not wish for there to be any more years of war like that, ever.

"Machinekind, hybridkind, and humankind are headed for an impasse, Michonne." DATA added. "There are numerous histories across civilizations, going back to the beginning of time, that show us where conditions such as the ones we face now often lead."

"Why are you telling me this?" She looked to them both, frowning harder, feeling as though she knew what they were getting at. Needing them to explicitly state it.

"The Smiths and the president believe you can help bring people together, _all_ kinds." Dr. Jones answered, trying to convey that he was sincerely torn. "That your resurrection would bring people _hope_ again. Unite us against Negan and his war mongering. Remind us that peace is worth _fightin'_ for."

"What do _you_ believe?" She asked, watching him carefully. DATA had said the same thing the first night she asked, but she wasn't satisfied with these answers.

Dr. Jones smiled sadly. She was magnificent. "That they are corrupt. Blind by their power. I believe...what they really want is control."

Michonne nodded. There was something to the insistent frustration she'd been feeling since JENNY told her what Command said happened the morning she died.

"What should I do, doctor?" She asked suddenly, her eyes flying back toward his.

She really wanted to ask, ' _what would Michonne do'_ , but she found herself not wishing to disappoint him. Human emotions were difficult, complex things. She almost envied DATA his inability to experience them.

Morgan closed the space between them again as DATA looked on silently. He reached out and took her hands in his, giving them a paternal squeeze. "If my wife Jenny and I had had a daughter along with our son, and she had lived...I would tell her the same thing I'm tellin' you now. They _are_ very powerful. I fear for you, if you resist them." He did look afraid for her, but he wasn't finished yet. "But _you_ are Captain Michonne Snow. You fight for what's just, and good. You protect the innocent. You defend the helpless. Don't do what's easy, Michonne. Do what's _right_."

"It would seem…" DATA began, quietly, almost thoughtfully. He exercised his free will, as his creator had mentored him to all these years, to give Michonne a piece of his own advice. "...that there is no harm in operating under the assumption that the Smiths and President Monroe only want peace to remain in the Alexandria Safe Zone. For now." He raised an eyebrow. "However, I would agree with Dr. Jones. Be vigilant. Being used as a tool for peace here is one thing. Being used to unfairly wrest control from its citizens is quite another."

Michonne considered what they had to say, knowing she would meditate on it all later. She reached up to touch the 'M' again, finding it...soothing. "And Rick? Does he know about all this? Is _he_ resisting?"

DATA and Dr. Jones exchanged looks. "Your loss, Michonne...it may have changed Rick a bit."

She stared at her creator, trying to ascertain what he could mean. Physically? Mentally? Would he...not want her now? Had these emotions she'd been brought back to life remembering so strongly...had they faded? Michonne swallowed hard, standing even straighter, releasing Dr. Jones's other hand.

"But he'll remember me." She said, almost as a vow to herself. A promise. "We were partners. It's like you said, doctor. I'll follow what I know. It won't steer me wrong. He'll _remember_. He has to."

Morgan's heart swelled with equal parts pride, sorrow, and fear, not for the first time since his creation opened her eyes. Certainly not for the last. He smiled at her reassuringly. "That's exactly what you were created to do, Michonne. I couldn't be prouder of you."

"Thank you, doctor."

"Perhaps we should leave Michonne to her rest, doctor?" DATA interrupted softly. "We only have one training session left before she is to be transferred to the B-DP."

At the mention of the B-DP, and of being transferred - of having to leave them - Michonne felt a heavy sense of anxiousness seize her. These damned emotions. Did found now in this instant that she did not wish to be separated for them, know she knew she must. She thought of Rick, and all her friends, and what Dr. Jones had advised her to do. Just be herself. Just show them that she knew who she was, and who _they_ all were. But what if it wasn't that simple? What if they rejected her? What if Rick…?

The thought of seeing Rick again was enough to render her completely motionless for a few seconds.

Only DATA's extraordinary eyesight caught that she'd stilled even her blinking and breathing at the mere mention of her old home; her old life.

He offered her a reassuring smile. "Do not worry, Captain. Remember. No one can tell you who you are."

"Not even us." Dr. Jones nodded in agreement. He gave her shoulder one last squeeze and turned to leave her be for a little while longer, as DATA suggested. "Once you step outside into the world, you make your own decisions and create your own destiny."

He followed DATA to the door, but Michonne called out for them before she could stop herself.

"What if they _can't_ be trusted _?_ The Smiths? Command?"

Dr. Jones turned back before they left her. "I can't tell you exactly, Michonne. I can only tell you to be careful. Remember the Three Laws. And follow your heart. Like we talked about. Good luck, my child."

With that, she was alone again, silver and blue still glinting in her hair under the flashes of flyers zooming past her viewers.

* * *

 **Day X**

 **08:56**

"And finally…" DATA tossed Michonne her katana, then turned to retrieve his two. He faced her again, and they bowed. "Kenbo."

They fought. This time with much more speed and confidence. Michonne had become a master under DATA'S tutelage. Her growth and skill was a wonder to behold. Dr. Jones watched out of sight, as usual, marveling at her for the last time. He feared for her safety, her wellbeing. But he knew that if he and DATA had done their jobs right, she would amaze them all. She would hold her own. She would be what she was meant to be. A uniter of the people.

Michonne and DATA were practically flying across the room - their swords creating sparking under the cascading sunlight. She disarmed him of one of his swords, sending it clanging to the floor as she flipped around him to surprise him with a sweep kick. She did not surprise him, of course.

He deftly avoided her attack, leaping high above her, raising his katana, bringing it down.

Michonne rolled away without a second to spare, landing another kick to his steel wall of a face.

He recovered, they continued.

Until Michonne sliced off DATA's sword hand, defeating him.

" _Oh my god_ , _**fuck**_ \- I'm so sorry, DATA!" Michonne immediately dropped her kata and rushed to his aid. He calmly stood up straight and held out his remaining hand to halt her in her tracks.

"There is no need to panic, Michonne." DATA answered her matter-of-factly. "I am perfectly capable of repairing myself." His severed hand flexed around the sword handle as he bent to retrieve it. "Excellent move, by the way. It seems my work here is done."

Suddenly, they heard a series of slow, loud, deliberate claps begin from the shadows.

This wasn't Dr. Jones, who also watched under cover of the cool dim.

This was The Smiths.

First One stepped into the light, still clapping slowly. Followed by the rest - all twelve of them - all clapping. Michonne and DATA stood motionless, watching as they assembled around them, one by one taking their place, spaced equally apart, looking like a small, synchronized battalion. Slowly, they stopped clapping.

"You are correct, android. Your work here is done." Said Smith One, his gaze turning from DATA to Michonne, the one he'd come for. "It's time to go, Captain."

Michonne glared at him - at them all. They were quite a bit more intimidating now that they were all here for real, in the genetically engineered flesh. "Where are you taking me?" She uttered calmly, willing herself to remain stoic and neutral - for the time being.

Smith One watched her relax and smiled slowly. He took off his sunglasses and stepped closer toward his hosts on the floor of the training room. He put them into his inner jacket pocket and folded his hands across his pelvis, eyeing her with emotionless ease.

"You're going home, Captain. Isn't that what you've been longing for since you first opened those pretty brown eyes of yours?"

She considered him, turning to observe DATA's reaction. DATA stood benignly, observing, still holding his severed hand with his other. "Yes." She finally answered, turning back to Smith One.

He leered at her. " _Good._ And I'm here to make your wish come true. In exchange…" He shrugged, and his clones stood by silently, observing their surroundings. "For your cooperation in bringing peace and order back to the Safe Zone. Under the...guidance...of Command, of course."

She took note of the way he said 'guidance', 'peace', and 'order'. The tone of his voice was oddly devoid of any telling emotion, but his eyes looked fierce and determined on each syllable. She didn't know what his real agenda was, yet, but she did wish to go home. She wished to see Rick.

She would tell them that, of course. "Alright." She accepted his terms. "How do we do this?"

"We do this _now_ , lady and gentlemen." Smith said, just as Dr. Jones finally emerged to join them in the light. "Right now. I assume you have everything ready, doctor?"

Dr. Jones nodded slowly. He produced a small, portable holoscanner and handed it to Smith One.

"Everythin' you need to understand her, for anyone that needs a little persuasion. Especially Watson and Grimes."

Michonne stared at the exchange of the holoscanner, her ears perking up at the sound of Rick's name.

Smith One smiled again, slipping the holoscanner into his jacket and retrieving his shades again. "Good. Very good, doctor. We are grateful for your cooperation." He turned to Michonne and DATA. "You have five minutes. The cargo flyer is waiting on the roof."

With that, he left them, walking through his crowd of clones to lead them out of the training room.

DATA and Dr. Jones turned to face Michonne. This was goodbye.


	11. the machine's heart

_take a look in the mirror, what do you see?_

 _do you see it clearer, or are you deceived_

 _by what you believe?_

 _don't ask my opinion, don't ask me to lie_

 _don't beg my forgiveness for making you cry_

 _'cause I'm only human, after all_

 _you're only human, after all_

 _don't put the blame on me_

\- "Human", Rag'N'Bone Man

* * *

 _ **[Rebooting…]**_

 _ **[Personal Archive, REPLICANT™ Snow.001]**_

…

 _ **Sky Bridge 9...**_

 _ **En Route, B-DP/ Level 12..**_

 _ **Status...**_

 _ **All Systems Diagnostic / Prime Directive Upload..**_

…

Michonne came alive again.

They had sent her to netspace when they all loaded onto the cargo flyer that would take her straight to the B-DP. She had gone perfectly still, operating at the minimum level, sightless, aimless, waiting.

Smith explained that it was for her protection, so they could run 'tests' and keep her in 'top condition' while they traveled. She resented his reference to her as though she was nothing more than a machine, when he clearly knew otherwise. Dr. Jones had warned her to expect a vast spectrum of reactions from all kinds. It seemed The Smiths were her very first test.

Now she was strapped to a 'holding' station whilst the flyer's holoscanners went to work scanning her bio readings in her present, 'conscious' state. Her vision was obscured by some running program they had downloaded into her positronic net.

It was the Three Laws. The Prime Directives of the Alexandria Safe Zone.

Smith had not been lying when he said that she would be under the direct supervision - perhaps even control - of Skyscraper Command.

…

 _ **BOOTING…**_

 _ **SAFE ZONE CLOUD ARCHIVE..**_

 _ **SKYSCRAPER COMMAND..**_

 _ **PRIME DIRECTIVES…**_

 _ **SERVE THE PUBLIC TRUST**_

 _ **PROTECT THE INNOCENT**_

 _ **UPHOLD THE LAW_**_

…

"Holy shit." Suddenly, an unfamiliar man's voice rang out, and his face was in her line of vision as she catalogued the Three Laws. "She's online. I can't believe it - look, she's blinking and breathing and everything! Ohhh _fuck_ , this is exciting!"

"Mind your manners, Morton." Smith One growled, also appearing in Michonne's line of vision. This Morton fellow's excitement was also annoying him, it seemed, as it was Michonne. "I assure you, she is as human as state of the art bioengineering can create. And much, _much_ more. Some reverence, if you would, please. _Respect._ Begin your work. Now."

He gestured for Morton to get a hold of himself and get to the point. He was an enigma.

Michonne turned to regard Morton, intentionally keeping herself calm, observant. She would wait. She would see. He grinned at her cockily, stepping back and adjusting his tie, sweeping nervous hands through his thinning hair.

"Of course, of course, we're all professionals here." He cleared his throat and folded his arms, adopting a wide, confident stance as the flyer zoomed along. His way of speaking was rapid fire, like a game show host, almost. Pat Sajak came to mind, from the cloud archives. "Captain Michonne Snow, welcome back to the world. You are about to be a _star_ in this city. My name is Bob Morton - not to be confused with our venerated Mayor Robert "Bob" Stookey - I'm the _other_ Bob."

She didn't laugh at his joke. He moved on, adjusting his tie around his neck nervously.

"Chief of the Safe Zone City Council, United Colonies board member. I'm your prep for the press conference. Anything you need, any questions you have, I'm your guy. And can I just say? It is _an absolute pleasure_ to finally meet you, ma'am. You were already dead when I was just a Command School graduate, and _this_ \- well, this is a dream come true for me."

He was shaking her hand now with both of his, gazing at her from head to toe as though she was a precious jewel on display at a museum.

There was going to be a press conference. Everyone would be watching. Did they expect a show?

Okay, then.

She was dressed in one of the dark blue, standard-issue bodysuits Dr. Jones kept for years, from back when he'd created humanoid bots as prototypes for DATA. The suit was skin-tight, hugging every one of her curves and toned muscles. She didn't feel exposed or embarrassed. Only anxious to reach their destination.

Anxious to see a certain pair of blue eyes, pink lips, and six-foot cowboy lean in the flesh.

"Pleasure." She responded automatically, offering him a small, reserved smile. She wanted down from the holding station. "When can I get off this?"

"Ohh, just a few more tests and downloads, and you're free to go."

"Downloads?"

"All non-human citizens are tagged with cloud-connected tracking devices and are subject to an irrevocable pledge to uphold the Prime Directives. Standard protocol; nonnegotiable." The President was there, Deanna Monroe. Michonne sized her up as she appeared between Smith and Morton. She was slight, but formidable, Michonne could instantly tell. She smiled at Michonne with awe and pride. "But of course…Smith is right. You are much more than any one of us could ever have hoped for, aren't you, Captain? Dr. Jones is a goddamned _genius_."

Michonne missed him. She missed DATA.

But she was _Michonne_. She tried to hold on to what he had taught her. What DATA had advised.

It was through her will alone that she would get through this next series of tests of her...humanity.

Whatever the 'much more' part was, in this moment, she didn't care for exploring it as much as for reclaiming her old humanity. Because only then would Rick remember her. Only then would he be able to help her heal the missing pieces of her memories...her self...her soul.

"Yes he is. He's my creator. I love him." She said to her audience, ending the double vision of her Prime Directives download. She had the point. She refocused, and saw that Monroe and Morton were both grinning at her, impressed.

" _Love?_ At such a young age? The holoscanners are right...her assimilation rate is at sixty percent and rising, _incredible_. The man is a miracle worker!" Deanna clapped her hands eagerly. "This is going to be _fantastic_. Michonne - Captain - soon, the world will soon know what you're capable of. Our new mayor is waiting to introduce you to your friends again at the BD-P. There's no time to waste. We have a lot to accomplish together, kiddo."

Michonne could not conclude how she felt about Monroe's warm, almost too endearing treatment of her. She decided to continue waiting and watching. "Will Rick be there?"

Monroe winked at her and turned to Morton. "Have you reached Captain Gimes, yet? It's very important that he be there. We need the citizens to see these two reunited as partners again!"

Michonne thought it odd that Monroe was so intent on making them partners again when she had subsumed control of the peacekeepers and practically dismantled them from the inside out. "Why have you brought me back?"

" _Peace_ , Captain." Deanna didn't miss a beat. She walked forward toward Michonne, ignoring the holoscanners as they did their work. "Peace is the name of the game here in the Safe Zone." Her steel eyes bore into Michonnes. She began to catalog and memorize every line of the woman's face. What she looked like when she was asserting her will. "And with Negan threatening our borders again, I aim to protect it _at all costs_. You're going to help me. That's what you were created for. That is your purpose. Regardless if Grimes is on board or not."

"Why wouldn't he be?" Michonne frowned hard at her.

She shrugged as if it didn't matter. "He'll play ball. This is _you_ , we're talking about. Give him time, and he'll come around, I guarantee it. But so you know...he isn't the same man you remember. Or maybe you don't?"

Michonne stared at her defiantly. "I remember."

"Good! Oh, lighten up, Smith, Morton's right. This is really fucking exciting!" She slapped Smith on the shoulder and folder her arms across her chest, mimicking Morton. Smug. Triumphant. "The United Councils will flip. We've done it, kids. And Michonne...I am _very much_ looking forward to working with you."

Michonne remained silent as they all three stood ogling her.

She focused on seeing her friends - and Rick - again.

* * *

 _ **[Personal Archive, REPLICANT™ Snow.001]**_

…

 _ **B-DP/ Level 12..**_

 _ **Status..**_

 _ **Swearing In/ Press Conference to Follow...**_

…

Monroe and Smith did not stay with her.

Instead, Morton spoke almost ceaselessly as he escorted her from the cargo flyer, into a waiting crowd of reporters. They swarmed around the two, flanked by Command officers creating a path through the yelling of questions and flashing of COMPANION-operated scanners that would carry the image of the resurrected Michonne Snow to the rest of the city.

She kept her head held high and looked straight ahead, not turning to acknowledge anyone as she took in the sight of her old stomping grounds. The B-DP looked almost exactly as it had in the archival footage she'd been shown by JENNY, and her own fragmented memories. She could see the signs of its aging, the steady erosion of its foundations and frame, but it held up tall and firm, the peacekeeper's tower.

Her home.

" _Captain Snow - !"_

" _Over here, please, Captain!"_

" _Turn this way, MICHONNE!"_

" _CAPTAIN! Are you human? Cyborg? Hybrid?"_

" _Do you remember GATUS, any of the circumstances surrounding your death?"_

" _DO YOU REMEMBER YOUR LAST MOMENTS ALIVE?!"_

" _Captain Snow, United Councils News, over here - !"_

" _City Council Chief Morton! MORTON! When will Dr. Jones tell the public - ?!"_

"Don't worry about them, there'll be a press conference a little later, you're doing great, just smile, wave, excellent. Mayor Stookey and your friends are waiting inside. Smile and wave. Almost there. _COMING THROUGH_ , people! No questions at this time, thank you!"

Michonne did as Morton instructed and smiled, and waved, ignoring the reporters and their disturbing questions. She found herself retreating slightly within, scanning the cloud for any signs - any communications or readings - of Rick.

Where was he? Inside? They still hadn't been able to reach him by the time they'd arrived, Smith One had reported. But they were trying. If she listened and scanned carefully, she found scant communications from two of the COMPANIONS in the cloud.

Michonne continued listening to the cloud as they entered the B-DP through the automatic sliding doors. The cool, rustic, endless maze of dark tunnels greeted her and she felt a surge of emotion so acute it was almost overwhelming.

 _She remembered this place._

Stalking through these halls day in and day out, headed to carry out a mission or headed to the showers to decompress after a long night of kills.

The place smelled of sweat, gun metal, Abraham's cigar smoke, machinery...she smelled Rick. And the halls carried the biosignatures of several others so familiar to her that she could cry.

She willed herself not to.

They bypassed the bullpen, where she saw the familiar bank of computers and equipment, wires and tinkering. Only this time, _The Grid_ was not showing on the holoscreen. It was herself reflected back at her, entering the B-DP with Morton at her side, whispering in her ear.

The headline on the United Councils News ticker read: _**BREAKING - CAPTAIN MICHONNE SNOW OF THE B-DP, BACK FROM THE DEAD**_

Eugene, looking not a day older than the last time she saw him, his same mullet and dopey look in place, turned around from the holoscreen to gape at her. The stylus pen he'd been chewing on fell from his mouth.

She beamed at him and he went as white as a sheet. "Mother of Christ…"

Heath came into the room from one of the equipment closets carrying a heavy load in both arms. He dropped everything as he watched Morton and Command security escorting Michonne through the main tunnel.

" _Guys. So...here's an update. Either I am in_ _ **serious**_ _need of a full diagnostic, or this biosignature is from one_ _ **very deceased**_ _Captain Michonne Snow…"_

An unfamiliar COMPANION's voice sounded out. This one was male, and he sounded as though his sarcasm setting was far too high.

Both Eugene and Heath looked like they'd indeed seen a ghost. Michonne tried not to let it deter her. She should expect this. She would remain calm. Cool. Collected. _She would get through this_ , she was determined. She had to see Rick again, no matter what.

She listened for him.

And they came upon a small crowd of greeters - the mayor, Bob Stookey, Chief Dallas Watson, Shane Walsh, and a handful of reporters. Behind them, several others hovered, most faces familiar, some not, watching. Mute. Ashen with shock. Curiosity. Horror. Anguish. Disbelief. The spectrum Dr. Jones told her to expect. She willed herself to remain calm.

Shane glared at her as she approached with Morton. He looked like he was seconds away from either crying or retreating. But he stood his ground, looking pretty much the same, except slightly more fatigued around the eyes and mouth than she remembered. Still, it was good to see him. She felt his biosignature radiating from him, along with Watson's and Stookey's. She felt them all. Rick wasn't among them.

"Speaking of the angel..." Mayor Stookey professed, turning with a wide smile to greet her as she came to a halt with Morton at her side. "Captain Michonne Snow, in the flesh. Hello, hello, _hello_ , you magnificent thing, you!"

"Hello." Michonne offered her hand. He attempted to pull her into a one-armed embrace, but she didn't give. After a moment of strain, he let go, smoothing his hand down his jacket somewhat nervously.

Shane snickered, despite himself, tears glistening in his eyes. Dallas suppressed a smile of her own as she lowered her gaze to her boots. When she looked up again, her face was composed. She studied Michonne intensely. As did Shane. As did everyone. The could hardly believe the sight of her, she concluded.

"Well...you must be pretty happy to be home. The public is very anxious to get to know you." Stookey announced, gesturing to the reporters behind him, furiously recording and taking digital notes. The small crowd of onlookers behind them - her friends - remained silent.

"Shane. Dallas. Hey." Michonne ignored Stookey and stepped toward her friends. She smiled, trying not to cry, as she opened her arms to Dallas. The other woman hesitated, looking professional and reserved. Garded. "It's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm...I'm safe, heh. Really."

Dallas took a step forward, and finally slipped into Michonne's arms. Her 'hug' was more of a pat on the shoulders, with minimal other contact, as she slipped away again before Michonne could hold her.

Michonne was disappointed, but accepted this as all she could hope to get right now, stepping back. She turned to Shane. He didn't look as if he wanted to budge from his spot, standing stiffly between Stookey and Dallas, blocking her from the others.

He gave her a curt nod, sniffing and settling his hands on his hips. "Captain Shane Walsh, at your service, ma'am." He said, avoiding her eyes. His tone was not familiar. Not friendly. It was quite detached.

Michonne decided to let it go, for now. She couldn't talk to him like she wanted to now, not in front of an audience. Everyone was hanging off their every word. She swallowed and fortified herself in her perfect poise. "Did you reach Rick? Is he coming?"

Again, Dallas and Shane exchanged looks, and a ripple of hushed, emotional whispers went through the group of onlookers. "Hot damn, this is _fucked_ …" said someone - a tall, broad, beast of a blonde, pale and ornery-looking. She stood glaring at Michonne in wonder and distrust. Next to her, a shorter but equally formidable-looking blonde with similar features scoffed and raised her eyebrows in disdainful amusement. "My money's on Rick. He's gonna flip his shit."

" _Shut the fuck up_ , would you assholes?" Someone else commanded - it was Andrea. "Now is _not_ the time."

"Well, pardon the fuck outta me, 'Drea," Someone else barked. _Abraham._ "But when _is_ the goddamned time, sweetheart? There's a _machine with Michonne's face_ standin' in the middle of the B-DP, bold as pig shit in the middle o'summer!"

"Come on." Dallas spoke up suddenly, attempting to drown them out, gesturing for Michonne to follow her to her office. "Let's get you sworn in." She turned on her heel without another word, leading the way.

She looked tired, resigned to her fate. Just as detached as Shane.

Bob and the others allowed Michonne to follow first, but Shane held back. "I'm gonna call Rick again. Y'all...do your thing. I guess."

Michonne to watch him retreat as she reluctantly followed her hosts. He backed up, still glaring at her as though she would disappear into thin air any moment. He watched her go, grinding his teeth, before finally turning to address the already descending crowd of his friends.

* * *

Michonne gazed at Dallas stoically as she recounted the rules and regulations of the B-DP.

The mayor stood by with Morton and a reporter capturing it all for the press.

Michonne concentrated on listening to Dallas's words and committing every nuance of her being to memory. She was one of the special ones. Michonne had watched her career through the cloud while she'd been studying all those nights at the Old Towne Hotel tower. She was a friend. Or at least, she used to be. Michonne found herself...yes...hoping...that Dallas could be a friend again.

And the others. With almost as much intensity as she hoped to see Rick soon.

Dallas tried to keep her storming emotions in check as she conjured a holoscreen between her and Michonne. They were being watched and she had to keep it professional. But this...thing...looked, moved, and spoke exactly like Michonne. It was positively uncanny to behold. It unnerved her, rattled her. She knew Shane's mind was positively rent in two over how to tell Rick - _what_ to tell Rick.

She als knew another thing for certain - her precinct was about to become a goddamned war zone.

 _Damned Monroe._ Dallas was going to call her the second she was alone. And she hoped the Smiths were with her. They had no idea what they had done. None of this would end well. She could feel it in her gut.

Swallowing down her anger and frustration, Chief Watson summoned the bible from the holoscreen, nodding for Michonne to place her hand against it. Michonne did so without a word.

"Recite the Prime Directives, please."

"I solemnly swear to uphold the Alexandria Safe Zone Prime Directives." Michonne began automatically, holding her hand against the digitized bible between herself and her new chief. "The Three Laws shall be my irrevocable pledge to my city. To serve the public trust, protect the innocent, and uphold the law. Until my dying breath."

"Then with the power granted to me by the United Councils and Alexandria Skyscraper Command, I hereby pronounce you, once again...Captain Michonne Snow of the Bottom-District Peacekeepers unit. Congratulations, Captain."

"Thank, you, Chief." Despite the tension, Michonne smiled warmly at her old friend, feeling like she could finally breathe. She was home. She was sworn in. It was time to fulfill her purpose.

"Is Rick here yet?" She acted on impulse as Dallas shut down the holoscreen and the mayor stepped in to have his photo taken with them all.

Dallas frowned up at her while Bob chortled with amusement. "Anxious to reunite with your partner, eh, Captain? You are quite impressive! Smile!"

Then she was shuffled out again, leaving Chief Watson alone saying she needed to make a call. Michonne followed, listening to the mayor recount the history of the B-DP to the reporters, with assistance from Morton. They toured the tunnels, and Michonne saw them all, standing around, staring at her, gaping at her, glaring at her. Her Family.

The two blondes were there, smoking cigars in the locker room, as well as Abraham, Rosita, Sasha, Andrea, and a few others she didn't recognize. No Maggie. No Glenn. No Mike.

They came to a halt in front of the locker room, where the mayor continued to blather on about how renowned the peacekeepers once were. How tragedy struck them, robbing them of some of their best and brightest, but now thanks to the brilliant work of the elusive Dr. Morgan Jones, peace would reign in Alexandria again.

Michonne listened, watching her friends react. She was also scanning the cloud. She heard the communications, now.

She heard music. She heard Rick.

 _ **What the fuck is goin' on down there, Shane?**_

He was coming to her. That surge of emotion - of love - worked its way through her entire being, just under the surface of her cool, calm demeanor.

Michonne paid attention now as the mayor turned to get her response to a question one of the reporters had asked her. "What's the first thing you want to do now that you're back, Captain Snow?"

She smiled, staring past the crowd to the showers beyond. She felt like hearing music.

"I feel like...taking a shower. And then I think one of you assholes had better give up my sword."

The mayor and the reporters laughed at her joke. Her friends simply exchanged looks with each other, speechless.

They wanted a show. She would give them one.

Show them that she wasn't afraid. She was human, she was alive, she was _Michonne_ \- and Rick was coming to her. When he saw her, she would make him see, too, and together they would convince the others that _this could work_.

"COMPANION™?" She called out, searching for their new teammate's name in the cloud. "JACK?"

" _And here is when my day gets_ _ **very**_ _interesting."_

Answered the cheeky, quick-witted program.

" _What can I do you for, Captain? Michonne? Snow? What do I call you, by the way? You're not a being I can say I have ever had the pleasure of engaging with."_

"You can call me _Captain_...for now. We just met." She answered coolly, unzipping her jumpsuit as she walked into the locker room. She saw her old locker, still unoccupied, and knew that she was on the right track. _Just be yourself, Snow. You can do this._ _ **Rick is coming.**_ She could hear the music in the cloud, approaching. "Turn on the showers for me? And play...hmm...one of Abe's favorites. ' _The Chain'_ , by Fleetwood Mac. Thanks."

" _No problem at all, Captain."_

Said JACK, carrying out her request.

The music started. The showers began to fill the room with humid air and steam as Michonne stripped.

"The audacity…" Abraham muttered around his cigar. He thought about it for a minute, and couldn't help a twitch of a smile. _Just like Michonne...she always liked gettin' under Rick's skin, backin' my happy ass up._ _ **Hot damn.**_ He was thinking of this...creature in their midst as almost human. As almost...Michonne. And it almost did his head in.

They all watched, backing away from her, gathering in the doorway, crowding out the mayor and the reporters so that they all had to strain to get a good look.

Michonne stepped into the shower, naked now, as the music and steam swelled around her. She felt the rhythm of the beat pulsing across her skin, registering in every hair on its surface. She listened out for Rick, waiting for his biosignature to be near enough to detect.

She felt herself filling with anticipation as the rest of the world dropped away, and she was back in her room at the Old Towne Hotel, dancing with Rick's hologram.

 _They told her to follow her heart._

Right now, her heart was pounding as she lost herself in the steam; in the promise of him becoming suddenly part of her world again. His touch on her flesh, his eyes swimming in hers. The music wrapped her in a cocoon of meditation as Michonne ignored her audience and waited for her love.

Then, finally, she heard him approaching.

His heartbeat called out to her, his footfalls perfectly matching what she'd guessed based on the life-sized hologram she'd studied more times than she would readily admit. She heard him as clear as day over the music, and the whispered speculation of the people watching her.

Then his voice.

"What the hell is goin' on in my precinct?"

Michonne's movements slowed to a crawl as she forced herself to remain in the showers, listening. The music lulled her, and his heartbeat seemed to match it as he finally walked into the locker room behind her. She stopped washing, letting the cleansing oils run away down her body, making her skin tingle.

But it was really _Rick_ that made her tingle, from head to toe. She turned her head, wanting to see him, and yet wanting to pull the curtain back slowly. For the sight of him, real and alive and finally here, might overwhelm her and she might not be able to will herself to move at all.

When she finally saw him, it was as if there was nothing else in the universe for her to observe.

She had never seen his face like that before.

He was _so changed_ , but those eyes were exactly the same as she remembered.

He stood in shock, glaring at her as the others had, his face covered in a thick, curly brown beard.

He looked haggard, sleep-deprived. He looked...very, very sad.

All Michonne wanted was to be near him. Her focus was like a laser as she made her way toward him, all her will and all her consciousness aimed directly at the man before her. _Her_ man. Her Rick.

Along the way, Michonne cataloged every minute detail of his being.

Committing him to her permanent memory.

And finally, she was upon him. She could smell him. Her body willingly unfolded against his, dripping wet, instantly adjusting to him so that she wouldn't knock him over with the force of her desire.

"Rick…?" She spoke, reaching up to touch his beard, staring at his lips, his eyes, his cheeks, the crest between his brows, his hair, his Adam's apple. This was _him_. The reality was so intense, so heavy, all she could do was elate in it. It spun around her positronic mind like a digital debris storm, sparking explosions of happiness as she wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him closer. " _My_ Rick?"

He could not resist. He gazed into her eyes, shocked speechless, disbelieving.

She wanted him to know, to see, to _feel_ her. She was his Michonne, he had to remember.

She kissed him. Michonne whimpered, molding herself to him, wanting _more_. She licked his chin, overwhelmed by the sensations cascading through her - totally unmindful of the crowd that had gathered to watching them in silent awe.

Finally, Rick responded, coming alive from his initial shock. He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her back.

Every instant that followed seemed to have slowed to a crawl as Michonne's body committed Rick's every cell to memory.

His fingertips sliding across her skin were imprinted and the data was now permanently part of her. His breathing and pulse sang to her, echoing through every corner her newly developing neural pathways. They were marked ' _Rick Grimes'_ as they shot forth, forming with the speed of a jet of lightning, provoking her cognitive development in one very specific area.

 _ **She remembered.**_

 _I love you, Michonne…_

 _I_ _ **will**_ _say it, mister….and I'm gonna mean it._

 _I_ _ **know**_ _you will._

 _Rick? I love you..._

She was in love with him. And he was in love with her. She could feel it, registering in her entire body, kicking her positronic net into overdrive as he groped and kissed her back. He was like a starving man at his first meal in ages, and she, too, tried to taste every inch of his mouth in her hunger.

He smelled and tasted and felt like some form of drug-induced bliss. She never wanted it to end. She counted every second, every dive of his tongue against hers, flex of his fingers into her flesh - and she felt him grow hard against her thigh. Oh, she wanted _that_ , too...all of it. Right now.

She had Rick in her arms again. Nothing else mattered.

She clung to him, kissing him passionately, naked and so ready for him to take her to any dark corner he pleased and take her virginity without mercy or comment. She wanted him inside her. To complete their bond. _Forever, forever,_ _ **forever**_ _, Rick._

And then, he stopped.

His grip on her loosened, and he stepped back, staring down at her.

The disbelief had returned. Along with something else. Something it took her a moment to identify.

Betrayal.

Had no one warned him?

"What are you…?" He growled, putting more distance between them, leaving her cold and unsure. "What _is_ this?" Rick turned his back on her, the hurt in his eyes imprinted on her permanent memory, too.

Then mayor Bob was talking, but Michonne could only focus on Rick.

She read his body language. He was furious. She didn't know what to do. "Rick? What's wrong?"

What had she done wrong? She had done what Dr. Jones and DATA had told her. She had followed her heart. She had tried to be herself. She had shown Rick how much she loved and missed him.

But he was ignoring her. Michonne stared at him, confused.

They had been happy in here, always. Even if they were tired. Even if they were fighting. Even if they had lost someone, or couldn't complete a mission. This was their _home_. The music, the showers, everything...why hadn't it worked?

Now Rick was leaving, and the reporters were surrounding her again. Michonne ignored them.

They tried to ask her more questions, but Michonne stared past them to the retreating crowd as it followed Rick out of sight. She heard his footfalls, listened out for him, and finally heard a loud crash - the shatter of glass with the slamming of a door.

"I think I should get dressed." She said, cutting off one of the reporters, disappointment - more than that, _hurt_ \- flooding her.

"Right, yes that is a good call, Captain. Let's save any additional questions for the press conference, which starts in just a few minutes, ladies and gentlemen, thank you, get out now, _thank youuu_."

Morton rushed forth to rescue her, escorting the reports and the mayor out to the bullpen where they'd hold the press conference.

Michonne listened to her 'handler' explain what was going to happen next while she numbly got dressed. She heard shouting. Rick and Dallas were arguing about her. Her 'friends' were arguing, too. This wasn't the way she had hoped things would turn out. She found clothes to put on that might have belonged to her - they seemed like her style. But not her sword.

Suddenly feeling angry, herself, Michonne turned to address the crowd. "Where is my sword?"

Shane was there, now, followed by Sasha and Andrea and Abraham.

"So it's _your_ sword, now, huh?" Shane countered testily, ignoring Morton. The others simply watched.

"Yes. It's always been mine, Shane." Michonne answered him smoothly, trying to be patient with him.

"Well, you'll have to get it from Rick." Sasha said before Shane could answer, her eyes flickering up and down at Michonne, sizing her up, not looking too happy either. "If he hasn't gotten himself thrown onto _The Grid_ by now..."

"Don't expect his sympathy, either." Andrea warned her, her sky blue eyes shining with hostility. "From _any_ of us. We don't know you...whatever you are...you're _not_ Michonne. Not until we fuckin' say so."

"You gotta understand, cupcake." Abraham offered despite himself, and the group. "Well...it's just...you got the face of a dead woman."

Michonne didn't respond right away. She just watched them watching her, thinking. This was going to be much harder than she had anticipated. She tried not to let the weight of it sink her. Instead, she finally nodded stoically, walking toward them. They parted for her like the Red Sea.

"I got it. Thanks for the homecoming party. I feel really touched, guys."

With that, she left them, followed by a smug Morton.

Andrea crossed her arms, ignoring the screaming going on in Watson's office as she stood next to her husband and teammates, watching 'Michonne' greet a crowd of press. "What the hell are we gonna do about this shit, Shane?"

Shane sighed, rubbing his face. "It ain't up to us…" he answered, tearing his eyes from 'Michonne' to glare at the shattered door of Watson's office, where they could all now see Rick pacing back and forth like a caged lion. "It's up to Rick. Lord help us all."

"It's gonna be World War III up in this shithole, isn't it?" Abraham groaned.

* * *

 **Next:**

 **Rick and Michonne are forced out into the field together, where she shows everyone what she's capable of.**

 **After disobeying orders in a fashion too close to his Michonne for Rick's heart to take, he reprimands REPLICANT(™) Michonne hard, sparking a painful memory she wasn't ready to face.**

 **Rick seeks the counsel of his old friend Jesus.**

 **We hang out with Carl, Judith, Sam, Ron and Noah for a little while in all the hidden places of the Safe Zone.**

 **Dr. Jones sends a message that's meant for Rick's eyes only - a warning.**

 **I haven't forgotten about Maggie, Glenn, Negan, Merle, Carol, and of course, Lenny Nero in the Gates of Hell. :)**

 **As always, you'll find inspiration visuals (#machine heart #inspiration) and a link to the soundtrack on my tumblr.**

 **THANK YOU GUYS FOR YOUR REVIEWS AND SUPPORT. I LOVE WRITING THIS!**

 **More coming soon!**

 **-Kendra**


	12. the news heard 'round the world

_Written to the musical score of…_

' _San Junipero' by Clint Mansell (Black Mirror)_

* * *

 _ **[Booting]**_

 _ **[Personal Archive, Captain Maggie Greene]**_

…

 _ **Captain Greene's Apartment Tower/ Level 5..**_

 _ **Status...**_

 _ **DO NOT DISTURB..**_

…

A beam of red light shone out into the pitch black.

The light fell across the room, revealing the slumbering form of peacekeeper Captain Maggie Greene, buried in the covers of a lone, government-issued bunk.

It began to blink and shape-shift. In and out. In and out. A warning, piercing the darkness insistently.

After a while of no other movement, a benign, nearly emotionless male voice broke through the silence.

" _Maggie. You must report. Now. Or I'll be forced to resort to - "_

A deep, muffled female voice sounded out in response, this one thick with grogginess and a Georgian lilt.

"EGG, I swear to God if the temperature in here changes so much as a single degree, I'm gonna rip your damn wires out."

" _I'm afraid I'll have to take that risk. You're urgently needed at the T-DP. Of all precincts, yours is the only one missing its leader. Even Captain Grimes has reported for duty, if you can believe that. I can't ignore the A.P.B. any longer."_

A small growl of an outburst went crashing into a pair of pillows.

If Heaven could only be a dream, Captain Greene would gladly pay her last bit of money in this world to spend all her time visiting it. She had spent every waking moment since she was a little girl fighting to stay alive. But she wasn't living anymore. Not really.

Her dreams had become the next best thing.

Since he died, she saw Glenn whenever she could manage to fall asleep.

His hair, wet and falling into his handsome, kind face while they showered after a long day. The way he always closed his eyes in bliss whenever he drank his favorite beer at Rovia's. How she used to wake up to find him watching her sleep with a boyish, happy smile gracing his lips. Sometimes she dreamed of the life they never got to have, imagining what their children might look like, if they ever got around to it.

Sometimes she lived several lifetimes with Glenn in her dreams.

For a while, she was doing okay running the T-DP after Tobin and Aaron had been killed in the fight with GATUS. After years of keeping herself busy letting out her anger on the battlefield, Maggie finally started to embrace those dreams. Run to them after a long day of political warfare.

Every year around his birthday or the anniversary of his death, she slipped a little further. After the fourth year, she started taking the little black pill. Alice. Only to sleep deeper and longer, whenever she could.

When she wasn't sleeping, she was dragging herself into her precinct to go through the motions. Patrols. Raids. Arrests. Rounding up volatile hybrid groups all over the city, confiscating illegal walker tech, stamping out the seeds of rebellion like she'd been ordered to.

Her COMPANION™ EGG had been growing increasingly concerned (and more annoying) until one day Maggie reset every behavior she could think of to keep him out of her business. This morning it seemed he was determined to rouse her from her precious sleep despite all that. She couldn't ignore him. She hadn't had help from Alice this time. She was out of it and would need to do what she dreaded soon; secure it from her only connection to the dealers in Dogtown across the border, Daryl.

But first, there was something going on, too important for her to attempt calling out of work again. She had to get up. Go through the motions.

Finally, Maggie rolled over onto her back, her eyes sliding open slowly to discover she was laying directly in the path of the pulsing red light. She swallowed thickly, wincing as she registered how dry her throat was.

"I'm _up_. Turn off that damn light. Open the viewers."

EGG opened the viewers and sunlight spilled into the studio apartment she had been placed in when she took over the T-DP. She couldn't bear to stay in her and Glenn's place anymore, so here she was. Alone.

Maggie lay there, staring at the ceiling, resigned to her fate. No more dreaming for her today.

The withdrawn captain sat up on her elbows, watching the morning sky, letting the last remnants of blissful fantasy leave her as cold, lonely reality settled in.

"So what's the message?"

" _I was told, and I quote: 'fuck this Do Not Disturb bullshit. Tell her to report_ _ **now**_ _or I'm crashing my flyer through her goddamned viewers' by Captain Williams on his latest attempt to reach you."_

EGG reported, breaking up his usually detached, soft-spoken manner to attempt an impression of her fellow peacekeeper captain, Sasha's brother Tyreese. Maggie climbed out of bed and stretched. She would love to see Ty try such a thing. She'd put a round of HV bullets in his engine and blow that rusty old behemoth he flew to pieces.

"You think I'm fired, finally?" Greene mumbled, rubbing her sore throat. The thought of losing her job filled her with simultaneous anxiety and relief. "Is the chief gonna ship me off to _The Grid_ for insubordination?"

Her job was all she had left to do with her life. But if it went away, maybe she could be content with dreaming for the rest of it. Maybe. Sometimes she seriously considered investigating how that might be possible.

" _Unconfirmed."_

EGG answered as if that had been a serious question. He went on while she dropped to the floor and started to do push-ups at the foot of her bed.

" _The president has requested all peacekeepers report for duty. There's a press conference starting in twenty-two minutes and attendance is mandatory. No exceptions. The press are reporting the first human REPLICANT in existence."_

"What the hell is Monroe up to, now?" Maggie muttered as she mentally counted down and audibly breathed through three sets of ten. Once done, she stood up and stretched.

" _Would you like it short and neat? Or shocking and messy?"_

"Gimme the short version." The captain meandered in her tank top and underwear through her small dwelling, reaching out to tap the control panel on the far wall. "Did you say a _human_ REPLICANT? What do we know about it?"

A hidden room came out of the wall and stretched out the space, revealing a kitchenette and small shower stall, separated by a two-seater table. Maggie leaned over and drank water from the tap in the kitchenette sink. Now she needed coffee. And a shower.

" _Correct. Living human tissue and organs, encasing an adamantium alloy skeleton and a positronic neural net processor. Developed with real memories from the cloud. Quite advanced."_

Maggie activated the coffee maker and shower at the same time, stripping and stepping in the spray. She let the water wake her up fully. And she started to think. This would set off a firestorm. It was a complete surprise. The word was always that human REPLICANTS were impossible; forbidden. Or a bit of both.

"Why haven't we heard any chatter about this? This is a big fuckin' deal."

" _There was a vote, in secret. That's the chatter, as of this morning. A new law has been enacted. The REPLICANT landed at the B-DP in a U.C. flyer an hour ago."_

The peacekeepers would only see this as a threat. Holy shit. Human REPLICANTS were possible now.

This would stoke the fires of the rebellion. She didn't know what Monroe thought she was doing, but this wasn't the answer. If she wanted peace, pushing the boundaries of walker tech to threaten hybrids was going to drive them into Negan's waiting ranks. Likely Maggie was being called in to witness her own replacement traipse around her city. The opening crescendo to the end of the peacekeepers, and a long, bloody war. No fuckin' thanks.

"So what _aren't_ you tellin' me?"

" _You recall I mentioned 'shocking' and 'messy'?"_

Maggie rolled her eyes as the shower turned off and switched to Dyson mode, drying her where she stood. "Spit it out, EGG."

As an answer, EGG activated the holoscreen and the news came to life, projected over the small sitting space behind her tiny shower. Maggie turned around to watch, and what she saw almost made her lose her legs. She braced her hands, palms spread, against the glass of the shower stall and glared at the holoscreen in disbelief. The sight kicked her senses into gear much more brutally than the water had.

 _Michonne_ was being featured, on a running loop, walking into the B-DP.

Alive.

 _Alive?_

Michonne _couldn't_ be alive. She'd been blown to bits. And yet, six years of grief later, here she was. On the news. Looking every bit as alive as anything.

The sight hit Maggie hard, crashing into her like an anvil forged with bitter, jagged emotion.

Her next thought was of Rick.

President Monroe might have finally found a way to break him.

* * *

 _ **[Safe Zone City Cloud Archive]**_

 _ **B-DP/Level 12..**_

 _ **Status...**_

 _ **Awaiting Live Broadcast..**_

…

Chief Watson barely blinked when Captain Rick Grimes came storming into her office like a six-foot, grizzly-bearded tornado.

The captain slammed the door in one swift, thunderous motion, shattering the glass to pieces inside the rattling frame. He stood there glaring while the mess crashed to the floor behind him.

They had an audience. Press outside, their team eavesdropping, and she was in the middle of a call with the president and the cloned henchman. Rick didn't seem to notice or care.

"What is that _thing?_ " He growled. "Why does it look like…?"

He couldn't finish. He couldn't say her name. He could only stand in front of the desk, fuming.

He had to swallow hard, blinking back angry tears. Instead of finishing that train of thought, he started a new one.

"What the hell is the press doin' here? _What is this?_ "

Before Dallas could answer, President Monroe interrupted from the holoscreen. "Well, well, well. Rick Grimes has finally graced us with his presence, and he's throwing a tantrum." She crossed her arms across her petite chest. "What a surprise."

She was on her way to meet with the U.C. at an undisclosed location. She would address the press conference remotely. Smith One stood at her side, saying nothing for the time being.

Rick turned to stare at the holoscreen.

" _You_ did this." He drawled, tilting his head, his shooting hand drawing closer to his holster.

"Rick." Dallas stood up from her chair to lean over the desk toward him. She attempted to get him to focus on her; ignore the obvious bait Monroe was tossing his way. "Try to calm down."

In response, Rick stepped forward, hauled up one of the sitting chairs at her desk, and threw it at the holoscreen. The chair sailed right through it, crashing into the shelf on the far wall. It hit with so much force that it splintered into wooden chunks, knocking over everything on the shelf before hitting the floor.

He stepped back and began to pace angrily, his scathing glare shifting from Watson to the holoscreen. Calming down was not an option, then.

Deanna didn't flinch. She had him right where she wanted him.

" _She_ is a REPLICANT, Captain. The first human REPLICANT ever created. The press is there to welcome her. She's the most advanced piece of walker tech we have, and now this city's most _formidable_ peacekeeper. If those radical hybrid fucks want a fight, we'll give them one. She'll do what you can't seem to: help us wipe them out. We'll see peace in this city if it's the last thing I do."

"You are one _crazy bitch_." Grimes snarled through his thick beard.

Monroe laughed, shaking her head at Rick with disappointment. She was feeling bold in the safety of the flyer, far from choking distance.

"What an interesting insult coming from you. The U.C. is calling me a visionary. " She opened her arms in a show of dramatic benevolence, Smith standing mutely at her side. "I thought you'd be happy. We gave you back your beloved partner. This is the thanks we get?"

"Fuck you."

"It appears Captain Grimes is doing his utmost to land himself on _The Grid_ , Madame President." Smith replied, his slimy smile spreading slowly beneath his dark shades. "I can oblige him, with your permission, of course."

Dallas decided to intervene finally, standing up from the desk to face the holoscreen. After what she'd just been told, she was just as angry as Rick. But they could not fight this by throwing chairs across the room. She needed to end this before Rick got himself - got them _all_ \- into seriously deep shit. Having him sent to fight to the death while the world watched was not a smart move by any stretch of the imagination.

"No, Captain Grimes is _not_." The young chief interrupted, breaking up the doom and gloom act. "I'll take it from here, Madame President. You have my word, there won't be a problem."

Rick stopped to glare at Dallas as though she'd just spit in his face. When he looked at the holoscreen again, it was to find Smith whispering in Deanna's ear. She paused to listen and consider him, before finally nodding and returning her attention to Chief Watson and Captain Grimes.

"You're both lucky I don't have time for this crap. Watson, brief him and get him in line, that's an order. And _you_."

The president stepped up to the holoscreen, staring Rick down.

"You have _one_ job. _To protect the Safe Zone._ Without this place, without your one measly purpose on what's left of this godforsaken planet, you would be _nothing_.

"Less than nothing, still out in the wilds barely surviving. Show some gratitude. Play nice with your partner. Or things will get much, _much_ worse for you, my friend. In ways you cannot even imagine."

They glared at each other from either side of the holoscreen. They both knew this wasn't over yet. She may have been able to strongarm Watson, but she would not be able to contain him for long.

At this moment, all Rick could do was make sure she saw it in his eyes.

"We'll be in touch, Chief. Captain Grimes. Soon." Smith uttered smoothly, and the call was disconnected.

Dallas closed her eyes briefly, relieved that they were gone. The Bobs wanted the press conference to be the mayor's show and thank god Monroe was still so paranoid about her safety that she never stayed on the ground very long, preferring to keep herself mobile or hidden away in her tower. Her paranoia was a curse but at times it could also be the one, tiny mercy they had.

She dove right in, keeping the desk between her and the grizzly tearing up her office. He looked as though he had retreated to some unreachable place in his mind as he paced before her.

" _Look._ They sprung this shit on us without warning. No one knew. Monroe has the United Colonies eating out of her hand. It's _done_."

"I don't care." Rick grunted, tears slipping from his wet bottom lashes to land on his cheek. He wiped at them roughly and stopped pacing, shaking his head at his boots.

Dallas felt deep empathy for him, but she tried again. "I know how hard this is for you. I _know_ this is unfair. But I need your help."

He just kept shaking his head. She kept pushing.

"Hybrids are becoming more radicalized by the day. Sooner or later, Negan is gonna bring his bullshit across the border, if he hasn't already. This gets worse before it gets better."

Rick was looking at everything but her; he wasn't listening.

"Monroe is _using_ this. We have to figure out how to stop her. We can't do that if you're on _The Grid!_ "

The chief may as well have been talking to a brick wall because he couldn't concentrate. He still felt those lips on his. He still smelled her scent all over him. He still couldn't believe what he'd just seen, felt, tasted. He couldn't get it out of his head.

The way she came to him and whispered his name as though she'd been dreaming about him, too. _The way her body felt in his arms_ , pressed against him, wetting his clothes, warming his skin, hardening his dick. He missed Michonne so much. He hadn't expected how good it felt to hold her again, and he almost hadn't been able to stop. He wanted the feel of her back, badly.

Why would they do this? Why Michonne? _Why?_

" _Rick!_ Are you listening to me?" Dallas barked, trying to snap some focus back into him. "If this fight grows any more unstable, we're in a _war_. What about those people you fight with every day? Your kids?"

"What _about_ them?" He advanced on her, warning her with his eyes not to bring his kids into this shit. God, his kids. How the hell was he going to tell them?

The chief held her ground, finally walking around the desk to stand in front of him, despite that he was practically vibrating with animosity.

"I think Monroe is trying shut this place down. We get in her way, who knows what she and The Smiths are capable of. The question is _why_. Whatever it is, it could be worse than GATUS. We have to stay in the game long enough to put a stop to it."

He flinched at the mention of GATUS, but she could see what she was telling him was finally hitting home. Rick focused on her for real this time. She was pulling him back from the edge, she realized with relief. She could feel the eyes of his teammates on them still, and hear the noise of one of the precinct bots repairing the glass he had broken storming in here. But she stayed with Rick, trying to get him to agree that there were other ways to fight this.

It was Rick's turn to close his wet eyes. He sighed wearily. He suddenly felt ten times more exhausted than he had last night. "What the hell do you want from me?"

"Don't rush out blind. Just wait. I'm gonna see what Morton knows. And I suggest we keep an eye on our new teammate until we come up with a plan." Dallas exhaled with relief and immediately turned to her desk to retrieve a small, portable holoscanner. She held it out to him. "Here's your briefing, take a look. That's everything on 'the new and improved' Captain Snow."

Rick's eyes burned down into hers, but he finally took the holoscanner from her. He stared at it between his fingers, still shaken. Still haunted. He was almost paralized, not wishing to set foot outside this office to a bewildering reality he hadn't been prepared to live in when he woke up this morning. His chief's voice broke through the steady invasion of shock yet again.

"I have to do this, Rick. Whether you help me or not. I could _really_ use your help, though. Just think about it, okay?"

Feeling as though he was carrying the weight of the world, Rick finally took the holoscanner and tucked it into his back pocket. Gathering every ounce of strength he could muster within himself, he offered her a curt nod and turned to leave.

As he swung the door open, he paused. "If that thing puts any of my people in danger, I will execute it."

She watched him storm off toward a small crowd of peacekeepers. All of them, no doubt, waiting to receive marching orders on their new problem, the advanced being with the face of a dead woman.

Chief Watson just hoped they would decide in her favor.

* * *

Rick made it to the middle of the main tunnel and stopped, catching sight of the REPLICANT with his dead love's...everything.

She was still with the mayor, that slimy prick Morton, and some people from Skyscraper Command. It seemed they were making sure no one got close to her again, for now. The reporters had been shoved into the bullpen, much to Eugene's discomfort and Heath's annoyance.

Rick couldn't help his eyes from lingering on her, his heart pounding, his chest warm. She was like looking at a perfectly preserved memory. Now, rather than being no more than light and illusion like the hologram Rick slept next to, she was real, beautiful, captivating flesh and blood.

The lips. The voice. The way she carried herself. And those eyes. The most perfect and heartbreaking thing about this impossible being before him were those eyes. They were Michonne's.

He felt trapped in them. He wanted to turn away from her, never look at her again. But he could only stand there. Staring. Confusion and intense longing overwhelmed him. _She was real._

As if she could sense him there, she froze where she stood, ignoring everyone around her to return his gaze. His world had been turned upside down when she died, and now again. What the hell was he gonna do?

"Hey. Rick." Shane had been watching Rick.

That agonized, far away look that usually appeared whenever something reminded Rick of Michonne was in his dark blue eyes now. That wasn't good.

Shane stepped forward to get his friend's attention, blocking Rick's view of the mob at the end of the tunnel. "You okay, boss? I mean, I know that's a dumb ass question, but humor me man."

Rick ripped his eyes away from the confusing, gut-wrenching sight of the love of his life, alive and beautiful, to find Shane standing in front of him.

His friend looked like he was trying to hide how worried he was, but Rick could tell. He saw that look in Shane's eyes all the time, now. Their leader wasn't the only one who had changed after that terrible morning. The brash, cocksure peacekeeper had become everybody's caretaker, somehow.

The rest of the team had pretty much dumped whatever duties they were attending to this morning. The invasion of the press and their surprise new 'teammate' had halted business as usual in the B-DP.

Rick realized, with a heavy dose of shame, that his momentary inability to judge reality from a dream had been witnessed by the entire crew. With difficulty, he met their eyes in turn. If they judged him for getting confused, they weren't showing it...yet. Instead, it seemed they would still defer to him before they took any action.

Sometimes he didn't think he deserved the trust they still placed in him. Not since he lost Michonne.

"Yeah. Fine." He muttered in answer to Shane, shouldering his responsibility as their leader. He quickly moved on from the subject of his mental stability to deliver yet more bad news to his crew. "Listen, all of you. Watson says this is a done deal. She says if we're reckless about this, if we rush in blind, the peacekeepers are finished. I believe her."

The group reacted to the news, many of them sending skeptical, accusatory glances toward the surreal newcomer about to address the entire city live from their precinct.

"Good old Skyscraper Command…" Bishop quipped without a hint of surprise.

Andrea's cheeks flushed with anger. "After everything we've done to protect this city."

"This is bullshit." Rosita hissed. "What, so we're fuckin' disposable, now? We die and they just grow a new one?"

"Oh, that is an interesting mental image." Eugene looked intrigued, unable to help himself despite the tension in the tunnel. "An assembly line of Eugenes. A considerably cooler posse than the Smiths, I might add."

Heath rolled his eyes. "Focus, dude."

"Hell, _fuck_ Monroe and _fuck_ the chief. We're here for _you_ Rick." Shane declared, his square jaw set with grim assertiveness. "What do you want us to do?"

The band of fighters crowded around him as the din of the press swelled at his back. His friends. His family. They waited as he tried his best to resist the pull to turn and look at the new Michonne. It had been torture before he lost her, and it was its own special kind of torture now.

Rick pushed his mind to make a decision. "We're not gonna discuss anythin' here. Not now."

"Are you _serious?_ " Andrea narrowed her eyes at her boss. She looked horrified. "Rick, come on. We can't just let them get away with this."

"We won't." Rick gave her a firm shake of his head. His eyes hard but clear, he somewhat sounded like his old self in that moment. "But this ain't a 'shoot first, ask questions later' kinda situation, 'Drea. We _stand down_ for now. We let things settle down first. Understood?"

The entire group seemed to silently assess each other's willingness to go along for a moment, or no doubt they'd already weighed their options. Finally, they agreed, on one condition.

"We gotta tell the others. Maggie, my brother, everybody. We need a plan." Sasha lifted her head in the direction of the bullpen behind him. "Because you know as well as I do...they made that thing look like Michonne for a reason."

"She's right." Starbuck muttered, her experience with her old employer making her Spidey sense tingle. She exchanged equally suspicious looks with her sister. "That thing is here to spy on us for Command."

"I have to agree with the ladies, boss." Shane grunted. "I say we keep an eye on her. Hell, _several_ eyes."

His expression unreadable, Rick gestured to Abe after taking a moment to hear them out. "Alright then. Ford, you got REPLICANT babysittin' duty for the day. _Watch_ her. Report back later."

"Got it, boss." Abe nodded grimly, mentally kicking himself for opening his big mouth and getting stuck babysitting. He missed Sasha's sidelong look of faint concern, but Rosita didn't.

"Eugene? Heath?" Rick moved on to his two tech guys, reaching into his back jeans pocket to retrieve the holoscanner Watson had given him. "Make up an excuse, get a full diagnostic on her. Here." He tossed the holoscanner to Heath. "That's everythin' about her that they're willing to tell us. I wanna know what they're _not_ tellin' us, understood?"

Heath adjusted his glasses and nodded. "Yes sir. We'll let you know what we find."

" _Yo, I'm glad you guys remembered how much I love tense, clandestine meetings, but I'm being hailed to begin the live broadcast in sixty seconds. And you know the deal. Attendance is mandatory."_

JACK interrupted them. The press conference was starting.

* * *

 _ **[VAL Private Archive]**_

 _ **Grimes Apartment Tower/Level 8...**_

 _ **Status..**_

 _ **PROTOCOL BEDTIME...**_

 **...**

Judith hurried around the house, brushing her teeth and getting dressed for the day, while the news kept on in the background.

Carl had promised her they'd sneak out and go exploring in Old Town, out by the border. Maybe even find out if the stories were true...if Dr. Morgan Jones was really hiding there, living in a secret, magical machine world he'd built from scratch. He'd been promising Jude this adventure ever since she started searching the cloud and heard all the legends and rumors about the famous recluse Dr. Jones, a personal hero of both Grimes siblings. Since their dad wouldn't be around all day again, she expected him to pay up in a hurry. It was only fair after hijacking the holoscreen all morning.

She heard a crash as she came back into the living room to find Carl _still_ watching the news. He had dropped their father's coffee pot. VAL had already sent their bot to clean up the pieces of shattered glass and the last of the dark roast that had splashed all over the floor.

"Daddy's gonna kill you." Judith sang casually, picking up Nostradamus before the skinny cat had a chance to scamper off.

Carl didn't answer, or tease her like usual, because he was still gaping at the news. It was like he was frozen solid, almost. Jude rolled her eyes and gave him a look, trying to tune out the constant drone of the news anchors' voices as she flopped down onto the couch with her cat held hostage. "Ugh, come on, Carl! Why are you _still_ watching this? They had riots yesterday. They'll have riots today. There'll be _more_ riots tomorr - "

"Shut _up_ , for once Jude and _look._ " Carl snapped, his wide blue eyes still glued to the holoscreen.

"Look at _what_ , dog breath?"

Judith glared at her big brother's stupid, bewildered expression for a beat before finally turning to pay attention to the holoscreen. She tilted her head, not really understanding what she was looking at at first.

It looked like the woman Judith only knew from stories, her dreams, and those nights she'd wake and sneak downstairs to find her father asleep in front of a holoscreen playing out memories from years ago.

"They're saying that's _Michonne_. T-they're saying she's back." Carl confirmed Judith's gut feeling aloud. "She's at the B-DP."

He swallowed hard, still staring at the woman his father could not stop grieving all these years. Hope and confusion and happiness and shock radiated through him. But mostly alarm.

None of them thought they'd ever see Michonne again. It was a strange sensation. She was as familiar to him as every other fixed point in Carl's life.

And his dad was seeing this right now in person, without warning.

"With Daddy…?" Judith's mouth dropped open and she gasped, understanding what Carl did. The woman she was looking at, alive when she wasn't supposed to be, was linked to their father in ways that ran deeper than even her precocious young mind could fathom. Since this woman disappeared from their lives, her father had not been the same. He was a subdued, grim version of himself without her, even Judith understood this. She turned to beam at her brother, finding herself growing excited. "Maybe now he'll be happy?"

Carl took a deep breath, a peculiar look crossing his flushed face as he strode out of the kitchen and into the living room to kneel before his little sister. "Listen, kid, change of plans for today. "

"Caaaarrrl!" Judith complained, distracted from the shocking news of Michonne's return to launch into heartfelt disappointment that he no longer wanted to take her to Old Town. "You promised. You've been promising for weeks!"

"I know, I know." Carl let out an exasperated sigh and jabbed his hands toward the holoscreen, where they both turned to see Michonne being introduced by the mayor himself. "But that's Michonne and they're saying she's a REPLICANT, Judith. Do you know what that means?"

Judith turned to stare at the holoscreen. She'd seen REPLICANTs before. They were animals. Insects. Plants. Everything she'd come across in the cloud said that what she was looking at was impossible. So whoever made it possible, bringing Michonne back to life this way, they had to be a miracle worker.

Someone so brilliant, their work was indistinguishable from magic.

"There's only one person who could've brought Michonne back." Carl continued.

Judith's eyes went as wide as saucers. Michonne was standing next to the mayor as he boastfully introduced her to the world. Suddenly, everything about her was ten times more alluring than getting lost in the ruins at the edge of town. "Dr. Jones made her?"

Carl grinned. He had her. "Yeah. And if he made her, maybe she can take us to him. But first, we gotta meet her."

He knew his father. Rick would never stand for this. There was no telling how he would react, but acceptance was probably not it. It didn't matter. The teenager needed to see this Michonne for himself. In person. Up close. He needed to meet her. Gauge if he could trust her. If his father wouldn't help stop Negan, maybe this Michonne would.

Jude's head snapped back to her brother, pushing her glasses back up over her nose. "You mean it? For real?"

"For real. Do your thing." Carl rose to his feet, exchanging an encouraging fist bump with his little sister. Having to watch her wasn't so bad sometimes. Her hacking skills came in handy when it was time to break rules, and as long as he kept her relatively entertained, she wasn't too much of a pain.

" _Do what thing? Not_ _ **the**_ _thing. Were your father's instructions that I guard you little scamps at the risk of my deprogramming unclear?"_

VAL interrupted, suddenly, responding to key words and the tone of Carl's voice.

"Oh VAAAAAL…" Judith grinned mischievously while Carl opened a call on the holoscreen while it was still running footage of the press conference.

He wanted to multi-task. When they both picked up, he could tell they were watching the news, too. He bet his life savings ninety percent of the rest of the living was watching this right now, first human REPLICANT and all.

" _Dude_ , are you watching this?" Noah gaped at him without hesitation when he answered from his messy bedroom.

"Yeah. About that…" Carl started while VAL tried and failed to dissuaded Jude from hacking her.

" _No. No. Noooo...Judith, please, don't. Carl! Help? Be a big brother!"_

"Initiate PROTOCOL BEDTIME, VAL." The eight-year-old sang, rocking in her little leather boots while her big brother coordinated with his friends Ron and Noah.

Her first (and still most brilliant, in her brother's opinion) big feat as a hacker was to embed a sleeper command that let her breach Rick's parental firewalls. VAL had no choice but to obey the command, which was one of the most satisfying parts of the bug.

The command put VAL to sleep and the youngest Grimes opened another holoscreen, quickly initiating a massive cloud download to stall for time while they snuck out of the house for the day. Her small fingers flew across the holographic screen, setting up a remote link that would let her control VAL from wherever she was.

"The thing's done!" She announced, finding Carl hanging up with Noah and Ron.

"Good. Let's go."

"Where?" Judith watched her brother grab his stuff and reposition his hat, making sure he had his gun and knives where they belonged. He handed Jude her knife and she stuck it in the holster hidden in her boot, nodding that she was ready. "The B-DP?"

"No, Dad'll lose it. But I have a plan. Come on, we're meeting up with the guys in Hybrid City. There's somethin' we need, first."

" _Yes!_ " For the third time that morning Judith felt pure, unbridled excitement fill her. Hybrid City would be even more of an adventure than Old Town.

She practically ran after Carl as he armed the house and let her lead them through the door.

The holoscreen in the living room remained broadcasting the scene at the B-DP.

Captain Michonne Snow approached the podium as the mayor, Morton, and their band of Command people applauded her.

She gazed out at the press pit, her eyes rising to meet the cameras. She was stoic, and yet her steady gaze seemed to be filled with hope. Confidence.

"Good morning." She spoke, her voice echoing out into the Grimes living room. Nostradamus paused licking himself on the couch to watch. "I am Captain Michonne Snow. Yes. I am also a REPLICANT. But beyond that, I am...and have always been...this city's protector. And it's good to be home."

The rise of voices greeted her brief statement, questions upon questions being shouted at her as the cat resumed his grooming with a lazy swish of his wiry tail.

* * *

 **A/N: Slowly, surely, getting my muse back. Thank you for your patience with me. :)**

 **-Kendra**


	13. the way forward, part i

_Written to the musical score of…_

' _1983' by Senoia Caves_

* * *

 _ **[United Colonies News Cloud Archive]**_

…

 _ **B-DP / Level 12..**_

 _ **File Code: SNOW DAY...**_

…

Bots zipped this way and that around the bullpen-turned-press pit, broadcasting a live stream while twenty-something members of the press watched history being made yet again.

Rick and the others stood at the back of the room, having been the last to arrive despite probably needing to be among the first. They all watched as the mayor went on and on, gushing about how proud he was to be the leader of the birthplace of walker tech. The mecca of hope for humanity. How historic this day was for their fair city, the safest zone of them all, blah, blah, blah.

"Gotta hand it to 'em…" Shane muttered from his leaning position against the doorframe as they watched. He tore his eyes from the scene to glance at Rick sadly, rubbing his left shoulder as he was prone to when he was stressed. "They sure as shit got every detail perfect."

Rick didn't respond, but he certainly agreed. Even now, with all his crew and a room full of others watching, he could not take his eyes off of her. She stood next to Watson, who'd been dragged from her office up to the front to represent the B-DP. Morton and his entourage took up her other side. She wasn't listening to the mayor's speech. She was watching Rick, too. Their gazes had met the moment he and the others entered the bullpen. They hadn't let up since.

Everyone noticed, but they chose not to comment, for Rick's sake. For Rick, it was almost as if he was back on the dance floor at Rovia's the night they both stopped hiding how they felt about each other.

 _Monroe and the Smiths engineered this. They wanted this. Why?_

He had to stay away from her. That was all there was to it.

"Ford." Rick muttered from behind his thick beard, forcing himself to lower his gaze. He turned slightly to look at his big, machine-armed teammate. "That leash is gonna need to be a tight one."

"Copy that." Abe's brow knitted together at the look in his boss's eyes but he nodded dutifully, understanding his orders. _Fuck a duck._ It was just his luck to get stuck spending his ten hour shift babysitting a freaky replica of his dead friend.

They managed to get through the next few minutes of boasting from Stookey, and then it was the REPLICANT's turn to speak. The room fell silent as she approached the podium after Mayor Bob's enthusiastic introduction. Dallas found herself watching to make sure Rick and the others were handling this like professionals, even though it was a strange situation for them all. Rick stood flanked by Shane and Andrea, the rest filling in the space of the entryway to the bullpen in solidarity. His face was a hard mask. His eyes, however, followed Michonne's every move.

"Good morning." Snow began, facing the wall-to-wall attention head on.

Rick's chest went tight, but he forced himself to just stand there. Her voice was something he had only heard through a holoscreen for years, now. "I am Captain Michonne Snow. Yes. I am also a REPLICANT. But beyond that, I am...and always have been...this city's protector. And it's good to be home."

She nodded confidently at the cameras flitting around her, but her eyes slipped once again to find Rick's. He steeled himself against her exquisite beauty. The shorter hair revealed more of her face than from his memories, and it scared him how hard it was to look away from her.

Voices rose up around them like a tidal wave as the press lobbied questions at her. Michonne handled them with remarkable poise, answering them as quickly as they came at her without missing a beat. The others understood why no one could get close to her before. She'd obviously been prepped. And with a mind like hers, sticking to the script probably wasn't hard.

The peacekeepers exchanged looks with each other. This definitely didn't ease their suspicions that she was being used by Command.

" _Captain, what are you made of? If Dr. Jones made you, does that mean he's come out of hiding? Where is he? Will he be giving a statement?"_

"I'm flesh and blood. You can look up the rest in the cloud. Dr. Jones made me, but I'm my own person, with free will. You can ask him all that yourself, if he feels like talking to you."

" _Captain! How strong are you if the rumors about the upgrades to REPLICANT creation are true?"_

Michonne smirked. "I think I've shown off enough for today, huh guys?" There was nervous chuckling and chatter from the room, but she got serious, understanding how much she had to prove, and welcoming the challenge. "Besides, I'm not here for a pageant, as hard as you might find that to believe. I'm strong enough to uphold my oath and help keep this city safe."

" _What does this mean for the hybrid resistance?"_

"Peace is the only thing that matters in the Safe Zone. I work alongside hybrids. They're my friends. My family. This doesn't have to be a fight."

Abe shifted uncomfortably in his boots. They were all taken aback by her directness, her bold wit, her certainty. She was convinced of herself. She _believed_ she was Michonne.

" _What do you have to say about Negan and the riots he's inciting across the border? He's threatening a coup. But should it be the Saviors_ _who feel threatened, now?"_

"What do _you_ think?" The captain joked, settling into her own skin, feeling herself out. "Negan should probably just stick to hosting his game show."

Shane shook his head. _Same old cocky ass Michonne_ , he thought, which gave him a strange dip in his stomach. It was hard not to miss her. Hard not to long for this version of her to be true. Harder still to trust that she was, given how she got here. He could only imagine how Rick was feeling right now.

The mayor laughed haughtily at her joke and the rest of the room followed his lead. The laughter seemed to relax the tension in the air, save Rick and his crew in the back. One of the Command lackeys at the front gave a little golf clap. "She's excellent. _Excellent._ " He muttered to Morton, looking very pleased.

" _So is the B-DP just like you left it? What about your former partner, Grimes? Seems like you two really missed each other."_ Someone finally asked.

"Why don't we ask the man himself, folks?" Mayor Stookey stepped forward and beamed out across the room before Michonne had a chance to answer, his eyes glinting with the pleasure of payback for earlier.

The small crowd shifted as one, turning to pin their attention and cameras on Rick and his fellow peacekeepers.

" _How's it feel to have Captain Snow back?"_

Shane almost choked on his own spit, his face going red with empathetic shock for his friend.

"Mercy me…" Abraham and the others balked against the scrutiny of the press.

Rick didn't respond. He stood glaring at the mayor.

Stookey kept going. "Why don't you come on up here, Grimes? We all know you're not shy."

More laughter. More tension.

"Let's get some shots of you and your partner, reunited after six long years!"

Everyone applauded.

After a moment of hesitation, Rick finally moved forward. Michonne watched him coming, suddenly demuring, almost hiding behind her short fall of dark locs. When he made it to her, he had to take his eyes off Mayor Stookey and face her. She looked up at him from under her hair, that spark from earlier still present in her brown eyes. He remembered looking down at her like this a hundred times in the past, thinking she knew how he felt, hoping she felt the same way.

Rick swallowed and looked away, turning to face the press.

Michonne let her gaze fall, understanding just how much he'd changed for the first time since he walked into the locker room. She had ignored what everyone had tried to tell her before, so strong was her hope and desire to see him again. Now she could read him clearly, this silent, stiff version of Rick who seemed to be intently focused on not getting too close to her. He didn't trust her. He didn't trust _himself_ ; his own mind. The conflict was written all over him, in his every breath.

She'd gone about this all wrong. She still had so much to learn. And apparently, to prove.

They took their pictures, and he stood there with his demon thrashing about inside him, counting the seconds until it was over. They tried to ask him questions, but it was all a jumbled chorus of voices until one tenacious reporter's booming baritone beat out all the others. " _So, is it gonna be just like old times, Grimes? Is Captain Snow right? You think you'll finally be able to get a handle on those riots before they spill over the border?"_

Rick found the guy in the small crowd, withering him with his steel gaze. "We'll see."

He had had just about as much proximity to her as he could take. Without another word, he stepped off the small dais the U.C. News had set up in their bullpen to make his way back to his crew.

Michonne watched him go. And she felt those sensations again. The ones that overwhelmed her before she opened her eyes ten days ago.

Pain. Love. Loss. She willed herself to calm the feeling, standing as confidently and as coolly as she could in the crowded room of onlookers.

The mayor saved the awkward moment, pulling Chief Watson to the front to answer questions in Rick's absence. Rick watched her struggle through it, ignoring everyone, until it was time for the president's address. This, he could not sit through. With a deep, hard sigh, he finally turned and slipped past everyone, back out into the main tunnel.

His team turned to watch him go, feeling for him. Heath shook his head, staring after his boss, who hadn't been the same for years. "I know he said to let the dust settle, but you guys really think he's gonna make it?"

Shane responded to a nudge from Andrea, who had softened at the sight of the struggle in Rick's whole being. She gestured to him to go after his friend. _This is gonna be a long shift_ , he thought, already exhausted.

The sound of President Monroe's self-satisfied voice, projected via holoscreen, echoed after him as he jogged away from their group to go and find Rick in the maze of tunnels.

" _My fellow citizens, this is one_ _ **hell**_ _of an historic day. From this moment forward, the United Colonies will be able to look back on this day and say:_ _ **this**_ _was the day we created the most advanced form of human life ever known. From the very thing that sought to stamp it out so many years ago! This is a day of hope, for hybrid, human, and machine kind - all."_

* * *

Rick could not escape Monroe's voice inside, so he headed straight for the back, where he'd parked his flyer.

" _We now have an opportunity to_ _ **unite**_ _under the continuous threat from Hell on earth…"_

The breezy morning air and faint light from the sun so many levels up hit him when he finally escaped the dark, chilled B-DP tunnel. He closed his eyes with relief when the door slid shut on her speech. Rick paced in the alley, breathing deeply, trying to stop the flood of memories. He had an entire shift to get through, and how many more after that?

Everything he'd been longing for had suddenly manifested. A twisted version of his dreams that he was now stuck with until he could figure out a way to escape. The distressing question: _did he even want to?_

" _...Now trust me...there is much more to look forward to for Alexandria; for the world."_

The door had opened and Shane appeared. Monroe's voice faded once again as Shane stood there with his hands on his hips, watching the wheels turning around and around in Rick's head. Rick glanced up at him as he paced. He recognized that look of concern again. A look he was getting sick of.

"I'm fine." He croaked irritably.

"You _ain't_ fine, you can barely stand still. This has been one crazy ass mornin' for all of us, but especially for _you_ , brother. We all get it."

The memory of the scene in the locker room seemed to enter both their minds at the same time as silence fell between them. Rick stopped pacing and turned to face Shane, meeting his eyes forlornly.

"What d'you want me to tell you?" He tilted his head, gesturing helplessly. "You want me to say that the sight of _her_ ," he took a shuddering breath, "walking, talking, breathing after all these years is like a knife in my gut because _she's not supposed to be here?_ I can't do that, now can I? We got bigger shit to deal with than my demons."

Shane had to look down at his boots, gutted _for_ his partner. Coming here to protect the Safe Zone in exchange for sanctuary from their bitter, dangerous life out in the wilds sure as hell hadn't made that life less complicated.

Rick slid down to his butt against the side of his flyer. Shane came and sat next to him, carefully thinking about what he wanted to say. Finally, he gave Rick as honest an answer as he could come up with.

"Yeah, this is… _whoo, boy,_ this is somethin' else, I agree." He leaned closer, offering a supportive fist bump against one of Rick's folded knees. "But you got me backin' you up every step of the way. You don't have to deal with this alone. You never have, that's what you keep forgettin', stupid. Say the word, I got you. So does 'Drea. And Abe. Sasha. Hell, even the Wonder Twins. We all do."

"What about Maggie? Daryl?" Rick sighed. All these years had changed so much. All the infighting going on among them, from Maggie's Top District to Rick's Bottom and Daryl choosing to remain on the outskirts of the city patrolling the borders. It was not going to be an easy mess to untangle.

"We'll deal with it. _Together._ You got my word. We'll work it out."

After a while, Rick nodded his thanks. Then he smirked. "You sound like a guidance counselor, you know that?"

"Fuck you, asshole. I was bein' genuine." Shane rolled his eyes and stood up, shaking off the momentary yoke of vulnerable affection.

"That REPLICANT looks _so much like her,_ Shane…" Rick lingered, his eyes unfocused again.

"I know, man. I know."

He shook his head, unable to help himself from thinking aloud: "Maybe this is my penance." He looked up at Shane finally. "For what we did. What _I_ did. To Lori. Mike. Maybe I deserve this."

"Rick, you _fell in love_." Shane squinted down at him incredulously, annoyed that he felt this way, after everything he'd been through.

His best friend fell in love, and lost her, just like that. After years of longing, they only had _one_ night. Shane would probably be buried under a pile of gin bottles right now if that was Andrea.

"I watched you be in love with Michonne for years. Don't you go blamin' yourself for givin' in to temptation _one night_. You were right the first time. We ain't got time for that." They let the weight of it settle on them one last time before it was time to put their feelings away and get on with it. "You comin' to face the music, or what?"

Rick nodded and let Shane pull him to his feet.

* * *

 _ **[Safe Zone City Cloud Archive]**_

…

 _ **File Code: SNOW DAY..**_

 _ **T-DP / Level 2...**_

…

" _Well, you heard the president, folks, this is truly an historic day for citizens of Safe Zones all over the world - wow. The first human REPLICANT. Can you believe how far we've come, Stacey?"_

"Holoscreen off, MAY." Maggie ordered, staring hard at the dopey news anchors gushing over the president and their new REPLICANT citizen.

MAY, the T-DP COMPANION, silently switched off the news and closed the holoscreen.

Captain Greene stood in the much more state-of-the-art Top District Peacekeepers war room, now in uniform, her short hair tucked behind her ears. She was fighting hard to maintain her composure as she watched the last few minutes of the press conference after her late arrival. This was really happening. She had a million questions, but the one that stuck out in her mind: ' _who else would they bring back if given the chance…?'_

She refused to entertain the hope that threatened to engulf her. Not here. Not now.

Maggie snapped out of her reeling thoughts and focused on the small crowd of peacekeepers gathered there to watch the conference with her. Her sometimes partner, Baker, an eager golden boy of the Command Academy, cleared his throat and shrugged. "Well that was...something. What I wanna know is why Command didn't tell us."

"Why the hell would they?" Maggie scoffed, uncrossing her arms and leaving the room for Baker to follow on her heels. "I need to think."

These were not the peacekeepers she considered family. There was no bond between them except a mutual desire to see their duties done and everyone back home in one piece at the end of each day. Maggie preferred it that way. It was easier to work with people she couldn't grow to love the way she had Rick and the others...Michonne...Glenn.

But with that safe sense of detachment, it was hard to stay on the same page with her team while under the looming shadow of Command.

"Hey, Maggie. Captain Greene? Wait up!" Maggie sighed hard but kept moving through the halls, headed for her office, where she could be alone to think. Baker persisted, though, easily catching up to her as she passed into another long corridor. "Listen, I think maybe we should give the guys a little more to go on, here. You're our leader, we need orders. This is a pretty big shake up."

"We have our orders from Command. The president might think she's Mother Teresa, but I'm willin' to bet most hybrids won't see it that way. Neither will Negan. We just need to be ready."

"Yeah, but, you know Rick Grimes. You know the other district leaders. Wasn't Captain Snow a friend? Don't you think this could cause a strike, or worse - ?"

Maggie turned sharply to face him, her expression as deadly as the hand cannon holstered to her thigh.

The viewers to their right showed the vast landscape of the city, towers stacked up one next to the other, sky bridges surrounding them, flyers zooming by every few seconds.

"Baker." Her low, serious drawl had him standing down despite his better judgement. They both knew she only tolerated him because he covered for her when she wasn't up to coming in, and he only did that because he was eager to prove himself to everyone, especially Command. But when it came to experience, she had him by miles. "I need you to concentrate on watchin' for potential threats _out there_. Connect with our spies in Hybrid City, the border, all the way to Dogtown. And I want double the security at Command Tower Two by the end of the day. You think you can handle that?"

Baker had more to say. He didn't want to drop the subject of the other leaders using this as an excuse to push back against Command, but he nodded all the same. "Yeah. I can handle that."

"Good. I'll be in my office."

Relieved to be away from his arrogant zeal, Maggie turned and continued down the corridor to her office. Once she was finally inside, she walked across to her viewers and stood there, looking out over the city, feeling defeated.

Michonne was back. Not Glenn. _Michonne_.

And she was stronger, more advanced, more of a force to be reckoned with than ever. She looked and sounded like the Michonne Maggie remembered, save the hair. Maggie found her way around her own pain to feel concern for Rick, wondering how he was taking this. Wondering what _she_ would do if this was _her Glenn_ , back from the dead in a form no human has ever taken. _He must be torn in two_ , she concluded sadly.

" _Captain. An incoming call for you on a closed channel."_

Her grim thoughts were interrupted by MAY.

Maggie knew who was calling without having to ask. Baker was right, of course. But she'd be damned if she let him know that. "Put 'em through."

" _Connecting; standby, please."_

Inhaling deeply to fortify her nerves, Maggie turned to face her office, where the life-sized, full-body holograms of her former Family were now projected. Tyreese, Andrea, Sasha and Daryl.

Daryl's hologram was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed. Sasha and Andrea stood in the middle of the room with a restless Tyreese, whose hologram took up most of the space in front of her cluttered desk. Shards of light from her viewers broke up the projections every now and then as they moved around.

Maggie sighed and ran a hand through her hair, disturbing it so that it fell across her eyes for a moment.

"So this is what it took to get us all in the same room again...sort of." She started, waiting.

Sasha and Andrea exchanged pained looks. The last time they'd all spoken, two months ago, it had devolved into a full-on standoff. Daryl grunted, "Yeah, we can skip the pleasantries, y'all don't mind. It's been a shitshow over here by the south border ever since the news broke this mornin'."

"You need backup?" Maggie offered.

"Nah, we got it. Talk fast, though."

"The border rats ain't the only ones. Half my district are hybrids and they ain't happy right now." Ty grumbled "They're all itchin' for a fight, including my own damn crew. I can't say I blame 'em."

Maggie rolled her eyes. Of course. "Maybe, but we can't go against Command. We wouldn't stand a chance. Baker's already suspicious and that'd be exactly what Monroe wants."

"You would know…" Andrea muttered.

"If you still don't trust me, then why are you callin' me?" Maggie snapped, cutting her eyes to the petite blonde with the attitude problem.

"Hey, we're calling because we need each other. All of us." Sasha stepped in before Andrea could retort. "The chief says this could end the peacekeepers."

"So? We're already finished." Daryl interjected. "We're always bickerin' anyway, can't see eye-to-eye on shit anymore. Rick's gone off the deep end, Maggie's…"

He paused, gazing at Maggie. She stood still and stared at his hologram right back, silently daring him to out her. He chose to move on in a huff.

"Maggie's up top under too much pressure from Command. Now, they're gonna replace us all with REPLICANTs. We might as well join the fuckin' rebellion."

"Where's Rick?" Maggie ignored Daryl's rant. "What's he sayin' about all this? Does he trust her?"

"He's with Shane." Andrea got over her long-standing hurt that Maggie would abandon them to work up top long enough to answer sincerely. "Watson thinks this is way bigger than Michonne. Rick agrees. He wants us to stand down, for now."

"Then what?" Maggie pushed. The others looked at each other. She was right, they still didn't know if they could trust her anymore. She had pulled away from them all, hardened herself, disappeared from their good graces in order to live a lonely life with her grief. But so was Sasha - they _would_ need her, if they were going to make a stand.

"Rovia's. Tonight. We'll talk then." The blonde sharpshooter finally informed her former friend, someone who used to be like a little sister to her. A balm to soothe the loss of their real sisters all those years ago in the wilds. Not anymore. "You say we can trust you, fine. We'll trust you. If you can spare a moment away from your glittering tower, meet us."

Maggie stared at Andrea's hologram, weighing her options. She wanted to be left alone to lick her wounds for eternity. It sounded like they wanted rebellion. They all had the hybrids to think about. And Negan. There was no rest for the weary. "Fine."

"We'll be there." Tyreese nodded solemnly.

"So we're really doin' this?" Daryl was still skeptical, still wary. His hologram stood up from the wall and came to join the others.

"Just be there tonight." Andrea ordered. "We'll see what we see. End call."

"Daryl." Maggie said once Sasha, Andrea and Ty disconnected, their holograms disappearing. He looked at her from under his hair and nodded stiffly.

"Yeah, I got ya. End call." He confirmed her silent request and disappeared, too.

Maggie let out a long sigh, sinking to her desk chair, letting her face fall to her palms. What a mess.

If only she could just go back to sleep.

She slowly lifted herself upright, now staring at the spot where Daryl's hologram had been. She began to think. No. What she needed wasn't to dream. Not anymore.

What she needed was to ask Daryl another favor. And this time, not from one of his lackeys in Dogtown. From somewhere much more dangerous. She would need to be very, very careful.

Maggie paused to reflect on her insane idea before it had a chance to spin out of control. She folded her arms, resting her elbows on her desk; her chin atop the knuckles of her folded hands. The formerly warm, fierce but friendly peacekeeper's hardened expression resolved, and the longer she sat and thought about it, the more she found herself opening to it.

There was just one problem. If she did this, she'd have to disappear. Maybe she was ready to.

* * *

 _ **[B-DP Encrypted Archive]**_

…

 _ **File Code: WONDER WOMAN..**_

 _ **B-DP / Medical Lab 1...**_

 _ **REPLICANT Snow.001, Test 37..**_

…

Michonne was running on Eugene's specially engineered treadmill, barely breaking a sweat while bots with sensors scanned her body.

Eugene and Heath sat in the observation chamber connected to the lab, watching her through the thick glass of the viewer separating them from her.

Abraham was with them, though his only job was to keep an eye on their newcomer. A pussy ass assignment if ever there was one, but it kept him from having to be around his ex and her Latina lover while they stomped all over his heart right in front of him.

Every minute detail of Michonne's being was being recorded, analyzed and stored in the B-DP database.

She knew they would do this. She understood why. They needed to trust her. They needed reassurance that she wasn't a ticking time bomb, or some kind of spy. She would allow them their precautions. She needed information from them, too. The same, in fact, that they were looking for.

Though she hadn't detected anything herself, if Command had done something to her that she couldn't control, she wanted to know about it. Eugene and Heath were ridiculous at times, she remembered, but they were also vitally intuitive, thorough, and passionate. She'd missed them, too. All of them.

She still hadn't seen Rick since the press left and Chief Watson pulled Bob Morton into her office. She still didn't have her sword. But she _did_ have patience. And hope. She was using the time to think about how she was going to get through this with no one around to be on her side.

Dr. Jones told her to follow her heart. DATA told her that she controlled her own destiny, regardless of what anyone thought. She wished they both were still around now to guide her just a little more, but she was determined to make Dr. Jones proud and live up to DATA's expectation of her.

Her heart was telling her that her actions, more than anything, mattered right now. So, it would be full cooperation until a new course of action was required. She had to set aside the hurt from this morning and keep moving forward. Instead of asking herself ' _what would Michonne do?'_ , she would take DATA's advice. _I_ _ **am**_ _Michonne, and this is what I'm doing._

"You boys got what you need yet? It's awfully quiet in there." She called out to the two nerds studying her from their lair. She turned to smirk at the lurker in there with them, still running without much labor. "Not enjoying the show as much as before, Abe?"

Before Abraham could sputter a response, Eugene cleared his throat nervously over the intercom between the two chambers. "We are just about done in here, 'Chonne - I-I mean, uh REPLI - _Captain_ Snow. Just waitin' on a few more results, then we'll be outta your hair."

"You tired?" Heath patched into the med lab where she was being scanned.

"Nope." Michonne answered, speeding up, pushing the limits of the machine she was on.

Inside the observation lab, Heath closed the intercom channel and sat back in his chair, turning to exchange awed looks with Eugene. "I've been obsessed with Dr. Jones' work for years, but _this_ is some wild shit." He gestured with his pen to the data they'd retrieved from the holoscanner Rick had given them. " JACK'S right, there's enough juice in her brain to power the city. It's like she's more hybrid than a hybrid. More human than a human. Like a _super_ human."

Abraham was leaning against the wall; his handlebars twitched and his eyebrows perked up at Heath's words. "No shit? Like Wonder Woman?"

Heath scoffed. "Wonder Woman was a demigoddess, but yeah, sure. She could kick a cyborg's ass too, I'll bet. She's light years beyond any REPLICANT I ever studied."

"Full offense, but you were still gettin' zits and that was snakes and bees, not a fully grown human with an adamantium endoskeleton." Eugene rubbed his chin, squinting at the readings JACK's scans were putting out. "Anyway, essentially, yes. She's mighty super. She could bulldoze right through those tunnel walls and it would be about as much effort as sneezin' to her."

Abraham absentmindedly flexed his machine arm, eyeing Michonne through the thick viewer glass. "You think she could bulldoze this bad boy?"

"Pfft. Easy. Her strength isn't even the beautiful part, though." Heath spun around in his seat to point to their other holoscreens showing them the full scope of the data they'd been given and had collected. "Check that out."

They both rolled closer to one screen in particular, showing a 3D model of her positronic brain, and within, the cloud data powering her neural processor. Abraham shuffled his large frame out of their way and tried to keep up.

"I don't know how the fuck he did it, but the doc managed to use the cloud to somehow jumpstart _memory_. Cognitive development. _Emotion_. It's like he took everything that turns us into walkers and reversed the polarity, then boosted the signal."

"English, Heath. I speak English, not tech nerd mumbo jumbo."

Heath rolled his eyes and tried to articulate it simply for Abe. "He created _life_...from data."

"DATA, you mean." Eugene supplied thoughtfully.

Heath made a face. "Isn't that what I said?"

"Yeah. And I'm sayin', also, _DATA_." Abe gave his mullet sporting teammate a blank stare, but Eugene fully expected Heath to be up on his machine lore. He sighed patiently. "DATA, the only android in existence? Dr. Jones built him almost two decades ago, tryin' to create somethin' like _her_."

They both wheeled around to watch Michonne.

She ran. She listened.

Heath finally caught on, jabbing his pen at Eugene. Abe was still confused. He looked from Heath to Eugene to Michonne and back again. "The android helped him crack this. _That's_ why this is all so over my head."

" _Uh, that's not even the half of it, fellas."_

JACK informed them, somewhat serious for once.

" _According to my analysis, she's not just programmed to_ _ **think**_ _she's Michonne. She doesn't just look like her, either. Her DNA is identical. Outside of the facts that her brain is positronic and she has super strength, she_ _ **is**_ _Michonne...and another thing? There is potential to create more like her. Way more."_

Heath spun around and around in his chair, thinking. "And if her processor works the way we think it does from this holoscanner's data…"

Eugene stared at their new teammate, more fascinated with each passing hour. "She's gonna become virtually indistinguishable from the Michonne we knew, with each day that passes."

"Dr. Jones is a straight up supergenius." Heath agreed.

"Well." Abraham stuck a fresh cigar into his mouth and marveled with them. "Damn."

Michonne heard them talking, their bio signatures sending readings out into the ether for her to pick up on, the tones of their voices a barometer for how she fared as far as their trust. She kept running, not winded or tired in the least, listening to them discuss her. Then she felt the biosignature of the one person in this maze of tunnels she wanted to be around more than all the others. He was near, and getting closer.

Rick. He was coming to her. He was still in conflict. His unique symphony was tense and restrained, as if it would spiral out of control if he let loose of himself. Her heart reached out to his...

She managed to maintain her gait and speed, but her expression went blank as she followed Rick's movement; _she felt him_. He was permanently part of her, now. He just didn't understand. Yet.

"Eugene. Heath. Report?" She heard his voice join the others.

The men all turned to find their leader entering the observation lab, looking expectant. It wasn't lost on any of them that his eyes never left them to peer through the viewers at Michonne.

He ignored her, and she felt the silent treatment through three layers of reinforced glass.

Rick stopped in the middle of the room, his stern gaze taking in all the data floating around him on the holoscreens.

He hadn't come to marvel at the REPLICANT's magnificence. He needed to know one thing. _Could she be trusted?_

Eugene gathered his nerve and gestured to the holoscreen next to Abraham's head, showing a readout of Michonne's biosignature. "Aside from the standard geotag and Prime Directive protocol, she's clean, boss. I had JACK do a preliminary sweep and I did one myself. No malware, no bugs, no encrypted transmissions, nothin'."

Rick stared at the holoscreen; taking it all in. After a moment he nodded for his tech team to continue the debriefing. "And?"

" _ **And**_ _, it's not like they'd need to whip up something anything special, let alone hide an Easter Egg, trust me. Her data recall power is infinite. Her consciousness is linked to the cloud on a biological level, boss."_

JACK informed him before Eugene or Heath could speak.

"Aren't most REPLICANTS linked to the cloud?" Rick grunted, frowning. He normally disliked it when JACK forced interaction, but he didn't have room in his brain to care today. "Upgrades? Implants? Whatever you call 'em?"

" _Not like this. That's programming; as such, it's limited and easily corrupted._ _ **This**_ _is embedded in her very being. Her memories, her thoughts, every cell in her body is a direct uplink. If she wanted to track us all, she could at the speed of thought. If she wanted to know anything, she can learn it in the blink of an eye."_

Everyone in the room hung on JACK's words. For the inappropriately sarcastic COMPANION program, this was quite a feat.

" _She can even leave her body, should she will it, and commune with digital programs as if they were entities, themselves. If I had feelings, I'd be super jealous. I myself am bound to certain realms of netspace, so. You know. Boo."_

Heath shrugged at his boss, leaned back in his chair. "I know no one wants to hear this, but I think Command gave us one hell of an asset." Everyone gave him looks varying from shock to tentative agreement to cold assessment. He lifted his hands as a white flag, but didn't take back what he said.  
"It's just an opinion."

Rick took this in. "What else?" He commanded. "You said she could track us? Anyone?"

JACK continued reporting his findings from the holoscanner and his own scans.

" _Anyone, yep. Even forever, if she wills it. Let's see, what else? Skilled in a very, very long list of hand-to-hand combat styles, and regenerative. Her assimilation rate is up by thirteen percent since her arrival this morning - "_

"I can survive without sleep for a hundred days, easy. My eyesight is microscopic when I concentrate. I'm at one-hundred percent efficiency with every HV weapon in the arms lockup." Everyone turned to find Michonne in the doorway leading to the med lab where she'd been running. She stood clothed in sweatshorts and a sports bra, her eyes only for Rick. Her body looked as though it had been sculpted from marble. "I can outrun a cheetah and beat up a grizzly bear, and I can even perfectly bake the best chocolate cupcakes you've ever tasted. Also, you could've just asked."

Rick found himself staring, blinked, and began looking at everything in the room but her, fighting that pull. He won, finally lowering his eyes down to his boots as he ran his tongue over his teeth. Eugene felt the momentary need to physically hide, but it passed with JACK's perfect timing.

" _Right. All that. And a partridge in a pear tree. I've uploaded a full report to the B-DP Cloud Archive for your perusal later, Captain. File Code: Wonder Woman."_

Michonne allowed herself to smile, then chuckle at the mortified expression on Eugene's face. He was such an odd duck, it was hard not to love him. Miss him. And Heath, who rolled his eyes at his partner.

The mirth they tried to conjure died before it started, as Rick's low, strained voice uttered: "Alright. Eugene, you sign off on it and get a copy to Watson."

With that, he turned and walked out of the room, looking straight ahead, and decidedly not at his former right hand.

"Are you done with me?" Michonne turned to ask her doctors for the day. They exchanged hesitant looks, but Heath gave a trademark shrug. She didn't wait for a verbal confirmation. Abraham barely had a chance to collect himself before she was out the door, after Captain Grimes.

" _That_ is not gonna end well." Heath tapped his lips with his pen. He didn't know who he felt more sorry for - his beleaguered current captain, or the newly resurrected one.

* * *

"Rick? Hey, _Rick!_ "

Rick felt a vise around his heart at the sound of her voice calling his name.

He tried to keep walking through the dim, winding tunnel, not even knowing where he intended to go. He just needed escape. _Why the fuck wasn't Ford doing his_ _ **one**_ _job for the day?_

The REPLICANT followed, catching up easily. She closed in, and Rick suddenly lost the will to run. Silence was all he could muster as he slowed his steps.

Unable to resist the pull, the longing, he stopped. Turned. Managed to control himself before his gaze reached her face. He'd have to contend with staring at the delicate 'M' floating like a star between her perfect collarbones, which were glowing with a light sheen of perspiration. Not even her hologram could show him such vivid detail. _She was real._

He knew, deep down, that if he looked her in the eyes again he'd lose.

Rick didn't speak. He simply stood there, a distant, wooden expression affixed to his face.

Michonne slowed to a stop a few steps away from him, though it was not without some degree of difficulty. Since her first moment awake, she'd longed for him. Here he was. Leaning slightly, swathed in golden tan skin, tight, worn jeans and a frayed brown t-shirt. His thick beard hid his beautiful, sculpted face from her, but it lit up his blue eyes like pale lanterns in the shadows of the tunnels.

He wouldn't look up past her shoulders. Michonne stood tall and steeled herself.

"I'm sorry about how we met. I know now that, for you, it's like we're meeting for the first time. I didn't think about how hard this would be for you all." She began, her keen sight tracking every detail of his being that she could, like JACK's bots, hoping she would see signs of him softening to her words. She was mesmerized by the warm, beating life of him, shrouded in sadness. "It's just that all I remember, all I could think about since the day I was born, was getting back to you. For us to be _us_ again. Partners."

 _Lovers_...she wanted to say aloud, but changed course a second later. _One step at a time_ , she concluded.

She took a step forward. He stepped back. He still wouldn't look at her. Rick shook his head. "That's not gonna happen again."

He flinched, unable to stop his eyes from flickering upward to gauge her reaction. She looked hurt. He regretted looking. He found that 'M' again, his heart still caught in some invisible, iron grip.

That 'M'. It belonged to Michonne. She'd been wearing it when…

Rick had to get away.

"And we're not partners." He put his hand on his gun holster, his jaw flexing. He had to force a hint of aggression to replace the sadness in his voice, but it was convincing. "You're good with weapons and combat, so you'll ride with Abe from now on. That's not a request."

"Are you gonna give me back my sword, at least?" She breathed, frustration brimming inside her. Something was upsetting him, and she didn't understand why.

He couldn't just leave things this way. She was really trying, here. Rick stiffened again, almost fully turned away from her, now. He rested back on his heel again, his profile revealing how much effort it was taking for him to maintain his cool. Finally, he gave a barely perceptible nod.

"Talk to Abe. He'll show you. We've got patroll in one hour. Suit up."

And he was walking away, disappearing into the deep of the bottom level.

Michonne took a shuddering breath, longing for DATA.

She thought of reaching out for him through the cloud…

"Tough luck, cupcake." She had heard him approaching, and turned to face Abraham, conveniently late to intercept her before she reached Rick. He was standing in the middle of the tunnel leading back toward the med lab, her regular clothes balled up under his duranium arm, chewing thoughtfully on his cigar. "But you got a snowball's chance in hell of gettin' the boss to say more than ' _boo'_ to you."

She lifted her chin at him, willing herself to calm down. "I know. I have the face of a dead woman."

"Bingo." He winked at her, handing her the clothes. "He's been mournin' you for six damn years. Hell, we _all_ have, but him the most. Can't ask a man to pass that kinda turd on a dime."

She found herself laughing at his joke, relieved beyond measure that he was talking to her. "Why are you being so nice to me?" Michonne asked unabashedly as she took her things from him.

Abraham flexed his arm, showing off the engineering and design, the impressive power emanating from it. "I know a thing or two about being a freak with a broken heart. Besides..."

Michonne stared at him in wonder as he lit his cigar and took a long puff.

"I'm stuck with ya. Captain's orders. May as well make the shit fun. And you're funny. Just like…"

"Michonne." She finished for him. He nodded sadly, his eyes raking over her, his turn to be awed. "Thank you, Abe."

"Don't thank me yet. This is gonna be hell. Now let's go get that sword o'yours, eh?"

He turned and dipped his enormous frame through the entranceway to another tunnel.

Michonne hugged her clothes to herself and followed him. She could feel Rick, getting further and further away.

* * *

A/N: I know, this was a long one. But that's because there's so much more coming. Your feedback really lifted my spirits and motivated me to get this next chapter out faster. Thank you guys so much! :)

-K


	14. the way forward, part ii

_Written to the musical score of…_

' _The Maze' by Symmetry_

* * *

 _ **[B-DP Encrypted Cloud Archive]**_

…

 _ **B-DP / Level 12...**_

 _ **File Code: WONDER WOMAN..**_

…

While the melodrama of the moment played out in the tunnels, Heath and Eugene sat studying REPLICANT Michonne's readouts; a cipher to life itself. Eugene leaned back in his chair, mimicking Heath's relaxed position. "JACK?"

" _I am receiving, what's up?"_

"You said her data recall is infinite? Givin' her the ability to traverse parts of netspace even you yourself cannot, is that affirmative?"

" _It stings a little to admit, but you are correct. Restate your inquiry. That's not really what you're getting at, is it?"_

Eugene took a deep breath, feeling silly for even bringing it up. Heath had been giving him shit about it lately, asking him to just let it go already. But if this morning's events and all the intel they were getting from the new Michonne were any indication, now was the perfect time to give credence to hope. However delusional some folks thought that was.

"I mean, specifically the part about her bein' able to commune with the digital entities that occupy netspace."

" _I'm detecting a hint of 'I have a theory and I'm dying for you to validate it' here, Gene."_

Eugene ignored the programmed snark. "Well, I'm thinkin' if she can commune with 'em, that means she can _find_ 'em." The fairly odd tech officer rubbed his chin, staring up at the ceiling, thinking, hoping. "Maybe she can find the COMPANIONS we lost. LIZZY. JORDI. SALT. The others..."

"Yo, you serious man?" Heath stopped spinning in his chair and sat forward in exasperation. "This lost COMPANION stuff again?"

" _Well, the theory isn't altogether unsound. If anyone could find any trace of them, it would be her. If, that is, any trace remained..."_

JACK confirmed.

Eugene raised his hands in childish victory. "Thank you, JACK, and hell yes I _am_ dead serious. I think this is our chance, Heath."

"How do you suppose this is any kinda chance, genius? We should be hunting down Negan's spies, but you out here tryin' to chase digital ghosts in netspace."

"Linkin' up with the other COMPANIONS _will_ help. The data they bring us could put us years ahead of Negan, we could stop another war. It's _uncharted_ _netspace_ , Heath." Eugene raised his eyes to the heavens, his imagination running with him. "It's what GATUS was talkin' about 'transcendin' to. If Dr. Jones can use it to resurrect our friend…who or what else can we resurrect from there?"

Heath laughed at his partner, loudly. "You say it like we'd even come close to what he can do, _come on._ LIZZY and the others ain't lost, you heard JACK. _There's no trace of them_. GATUS wiped them out for good. You need to get over that shit."

JACK spoke up:

" _Gene, he's got a point. I have detected exactly zero traces of our friends after three-thousand, nine-hundred, ninety-two searches. You wanna make it four?_ "

"See? Nothin' out there." Heath gestured to the air, mocking Eugene's victory hands. Eugene glared at him for a beat before rolling dramatically to his station on the other side of the room. His partner rolled his eyes at the back of his mullet. "Anyway, I got a much more interesting question for you, JACK."

" _I am all voice command transmitters. Fire away."_

The bespectacled science officer stood up and stretched, strolling over to the holoscreen showing Michonne's bioscans. He stared at them, reaching out to pinch-zoom in on one area of her body in particular. "You said it's possible to make more of her. But you weren't talking about replication."

Eugene forgot his petulant attitude about being dismissed and wheeled around slowly in his chair, frowning with intrigue at the area of Captain Snow's body that his partner was so interested in.

" _Correct. Though it is possible to replicate identical versions of Captain Snow, we all know the process can only be performed by Dr. Jones. There's an easier way, though. A natural failsafe he designed."_

"You mean she can make babies." Eugene cut off JACK's long, smug buildup. "Get pregnant. Give birth. Somethin' I don't believe any REPLICANT has ever been able to do before."

Heath stared at the magnified bioscan showing him Michonne's reproductive system. In previous versions of REPLICANTS, it was only the outside that was indistinguishable from life. The inside could never be made to work the way 'nature intended'. It was at one time both bylaw _and_ scientific limitation. Not anymore, apparently. Dr. Jones spared not one single detail to caution. "You're right. She would be the first." He shook his head in awe.

" _It's pretty juicy stuff, right? There's a full spread in my official report."_

The two tech officers faced each other, in somewhat the same ' _oh shit'_ fashion as when they discovered Michonne and Rick's affair the night GATUS blew up Skyscraper Command.

"How much you wanna bet the boss didn't pick up on that little detail before he stormed outta here like a coyote after a squirrel?"

"Who's gonna tell him? You?" Heath challenged. And something dawned on him. He snapped his fingers loudly. "Matter of fact, were they planning on telling _anyone?_ We were all there, they didn't announce it at the press conference. This ain't in the cloud, either, we checked."

"I'm guessin' that's because it's private, if human propriety and doctor-patient confidentiality apply to REPLICANTs now, too."

Heath squinted, not convinced. "You sure? The first REPLICANT that can reproduce naturally? You don't think Monroe's smug little ass would be all over that?"

"Hm. Not sure what you're gettin' at. I don't see a theory behind your deduction. It begs another question, though…" Eugene wondered aloud, his sluggish drawl wrapping his words in his special brand of uncanny inflection. "Does the REPLICANT know?"

" _Guys? Maybe worry about that later?"_

Eugene frowned at JACK's abrupt interruption. "Why...?"

A holoscreen appeared between Heath and Eugene, and on it, they could see a three-on-one battle royale was going on in the rarely-used dungeon hall.

" _Because our REPLICANT is currently in the middle of winning a fight in D-tunnel. Bishop, Starbuck, Rosita, and my money's on Captain Snow. Calling the chief and Rick now - go, go,_ _ **go!**_ "

They had dropped what they were doing and bolted for the tunnels before JACK finished listing the participants in the fight. The holoscreen showed three struggling peacekeepers being easily and brutally bested by one fast, nimble, powerful REPLICANT.

* * *

"Has Rick really been like this since that night?"

Michonne turned to look up at Abraham as they strolled through the tunnels. He seemed to want to take his time. She was accessing why this was, as much as satisfying her curiosity about something he said.

DATA told her that though he was capable of searching the cloud at the speed of thought, he found asking questions of humans directly garnered him much more 'satisfying' information. Information with which he built his entire matrix of human behavior. Michonne would do the same. Better.

"Pretty much." Ford scoffed. "Or else he's drunk as a skunk."

"Why hasn't anyone tried to…?"

"Ha! Believe me, we tried. Without you, dude just don't seem to really live for much, 'cept his kids. And they've been takin' care of themselves for a long time, now."

She paused, contemplating this. It was another piece of her unfinished puzzle. Instinct told her this meant that their love had been real. She was right to feel it and want it. But it was still very sad, what her being away from him had ultimately done to Rick.

Abe puffed on his cigar, angling his handlebars down toward her as the tunnel lights passed over them one by one. "How much you remember about the old days?"

Michonne looked ahead, noticing they were heading toward D-tunnel. The dungeon.

"I remember we lost a lot but we survived the wilds together." She said solemnly, not really being able to pinpoint where this information was coming from. It was like she was one with netspace, and it spoke to her. Showed her things. Etched new, permanent roads inside her consciousness. Some might call them memories. Being around Abraham was stimulating to her assimilation, it seemed. "I remember music. We laughed a lot, once we got here. We stuck together. I remember those first patrols with you, Maggie, Glenn, Sasha…" She realised he was missing more than just one flesh-and-blood arm. He was missing his tiny shadow. His other half was gone, like hers. "What happened to you two?"

They ducked down another corridor, and she heard the commotion from the hall ahead. She felt the biosignatures of some of the crew. They were on edge. Confusion swirled in the air. Fear. It was making them aggressive. She would have to weather this storm, and it was already attempting to drag her down, break her spirit. She wouldn't break, she promised herself. She would be patient with them. With _him._ She could not feel Rick near. Somewhere...but not down here. She could tell he hadn't been down here in a long time. She chose not to spy on him. They couldn't properly be connected until he was willing to accept her.

"Told you, everything's all topsy turvy, now." Abe slowed his pace and paused, his green eyes rising to hers as he chewed on his memories. "What happened that night broke a lot of shit, Sasha and me included, in the end. We tried, but things never got put back the same."

Michonne looked to the high-tech appendage, loaded and dangerous, permanently attached to the brawny man she used to call friend. "She was afraid."

"We both were," came his simple answer. Cigar smoke clouded around them in the tunnel, both of them impervious to it. She wondered if _fear_ was what Rick was trying to hide from her with his coldness. Her stomach felt hollow at the thought. Abe switched tack abruptly, reaching out to glance a meaty finger across a loc of her bob. "So what's with this hair, anyway?"

"What?" She ignored his quick change of subject, understanding that it was perhaps a bit too soon to get so personal.

He studied her under the dim tunnel lighting, shrugging. "I don't think it suits ya, that's all."

She considered him for a moment. And then, before his eyes, she willed a change that shocked and awed him. Her locs began to grow, extending and twisting into tight coils that fell past her shoulders. She watched his reaction as she changed her hair at the speed of thought, something Dr. Jones taught her she was capable of. When she was done, she looked more like herself than ever.

Abraham laughed loudly, stepping back from her in disbelief. "Aw hell. If you _are_ a spy, you're a goddamned _good_ one, buttercup."

"I'm not a spy." Michonne rolled her eyes at him, annoyed despite her earlier determination to have patience with her estranged family. She shifted her weight gracefully, her newly transformed locs drifting to brush against her shoulder - performing her own behavior from her previous life so strikingly, Abraham was grateful Rick wasn't around to witness her. "I'm just trying to find my way back home."

He considered her, and she could tell that something about his opinion of her had changed. "I guess Rick did us both a favor, then." And after a quick, reassuring nod, he shook off the sentimentality of the moment. " _However._ Me spillin' my purse about my ex don't mean the others ain't gonna give you a hard time. Or even that _I_ trust your ass. You look like her, talk like her, walk like her...confusin' the hell out of us ain't a victory, understood?"

"You're not confused." She called his bluff, squinting up at him. "You're just waiting for me to prove myself somehow, aren't you?" Michonne could sense that at least with him, she was already starting to.

He grunted haughtily. "What do I look like, Yoda? Get your ass down that hall and grab your gear."

"Hell yeah." She gave him a sly smirk and followed his lead.

* * *

The cavernous dungeon hall was bathed in the deep orange tint of the holographic horizon projected from a ring of fake viewers. At the far side of the room, the wall was covered in weapons. The burnished body armor, shooters that would never fire again, and handheld combat weaponry once belonging to fallen friends and fellow peacekeepers were hung along the wall like a museum exhibit. A monument to the dead. A shrine to shredded potential. Michonne's katana hung near the top in the center, gleaming in the orange "sunlight".

There was a long metal conference table in the middle of the room, surrounded by hard-used chairs, benches, and some stools. In a huddle around the table, Michonne's fellow peacekeepers were arguing, failing to keep their voices down.

"Tyreese is with us. We got his crew, we wrangle Daryl, we make this _work_." Andrea was saying, the edge in her voice sharp enough to cut. "Rick can't argue with all of us at once."

"I don't like it." Shane huffed angrily, dread weighing heavily on him. "We ain't got the numbers. Daryl on the fence of _any_ decision, I don't like. And I sure as shit don't trust his brother. What about Maggie?"

"Come on, man, Command's got their hooks in her." Starbuck muttered bitterly.

"You don't know her like we do." Sasha corrected the broody, pale-skinned pilot harshly. "Don't count her out."

Starbuck smirked in the orange light, angling her eyes over to her sister. "Fine. Trust her."

" _This isn't helping._ Now, we all agreed, we're doin' nothin' until Rick says." Shane interrupted was starting to lose his cool. "I can't believe y'all are ready to go against him already. Hell I ain't even finished my coffee yet."

"Rick's _half gone._ " Rosita snapped. She was sick of this wishy washy shit. "And I ain't trusting no REPLICANT with my life. Not even for one day."

"That's a shame. All of you used to trust me with your lives. _Every_ day. And I never let you down."

They all turned to watch the REPLICANT and her babysitter enter. They fanned out, scrutinizing her as she sauntered toward them with Ford on her heels, his cigar smoke creating a halo around them. They noticed her new/old hair. They didn't seem to be reacting as well as Abraham. Snow stopped to regard the small, mutinous crew coolly.

She took a moment to get a read on each of them. Andrea and Sasha the ring leaders, stirring the emotions in the room in one direction or the other. Shane the one trying to keep everyone's heads cool, though he himself was starting to heat up over the drama. Bishop and Starbuck, itching for some action while remaining above it all. Rosita...hostile. Of them all, she seemed to be the one having the most difficulty grappling with the sight of one of her good friends, back from the dead. Moving and talking and trying to befriend her again - a machine, in Rosita's young, jaded eyes.

"Sorry to interrupt. I'm just grabbing my sword. I'll be outta here in a sec."

"Thought we told you you'd have to go through Rick for that?" Rosita countered, popping her gum and raising a chiseled eyebrow.

Captain Snow paused to size Rosita up, then shook her head. "I think Rick would probably be a little more curious about what _you_ _guys_ are doing down here arguing behind his back. And I don't need his permission to use my own sword."

"It's not your sword. You think changing your hair is gonna change that?"

"Chill, babe." Sasha rached for her, eyeing both Abraham and Michonne with laser focus. She knew what this REPLICANT was capable of, just from listening to everything being said about her all day. And from firsthand experience with machine power. Rosita reluctantly heeded her note of caution, but it was difficult. She had never been the kind of chick that backed down from a fight, and as far as she was concerned this imposter was the last straw from Command. Rick was crazy to roll over like this.

Captain Snow stood stone still and as tall as she could. Abraham was her silent tin man, towering behind her. "No, I don't _think_ anything. I'm taking what belongs to me."

Starbuck scoffed, looking amused. "Hey - _REPLICANT_. Did you hear what the lady said? It's not yours."

"Shut the fuck up, Starbuck." Shane ground out, jerking his chin toward Abraham. "What'd Rick say?"

Ford shrugged, puffing. "We got patrol in forty-some minutes. The boss says she takes it."

Shane sighed while everyone reacted to Rick's indecisiveness already starting to show regarding the 'new and improved' Captain Snow. "Alright, then. If Rick's says she takes it, she takes it."

"Great. Thanks." The tension between them all seemed to be shrinking the room, and all Michonne wanted to do was get her weapon back and get the hell out of there. She turned and began a graceful march toward the wall of the fallen.

"Like _hell_ she does." Rosita stepped up to Michonne as the REPLICANT made it past them.

Michonne felt her coming, infinitesimal shifts in the air alerting her to the quick advance of a threat. Her mind broke down the moment in slow motion: A sucker punch flew toward her and she ducked, her hand closing round Rosita's wrist in the blink of an eye. Snow turned hers, and the other woman's entire body went spinning at a sharp twirl that sent a shocked gasp through the small crew of onlookers. Landing on her back, the wind flew out of Rosita as Michonne's boot swung down with blinding speed - stopping cold a centimeter in the air above her larynx. "I'm not asking permission."

The tiny warrior tried an elbow sweep, but the REPLICANT didn't budge an inch. "BITCH!" Rosita growled.

"Shit." Someone whispered with dread, and two pairs of feet were rushing toward her from behind.

Time slowed to a crawl again. Michonne remembered DATA's grave advice to her during her training.

" _Humans could seriously harm themselves with the force they will exert attempting to best you in combat, Michonne. If it is not your intention to kill them instantly,_ _ **breathe**_ _through your movements…"_

Michonne leaned back on an invisible axis, ducking a twist kick from Starbuck that could have broken a lesser being's neck. She grabbed the leg and the hip and swung the body around, measuring her force so that the woman would only sail across the floor and crash into the wall instead of being the one with the broken neck.

"Star!" Now Bishop, daggers out, advancing with lunge after lunge that Michonne blocked, moving at the speed of the blonde's thoughts, it seemed. The bright glint of the dagger blades sparked orange in the shadowy room with each swift, thwarted thrust. Rosita came to Bishop's aid seconds later. Michonne breathed, and matched each heavy, forceful attempted stab or kick from the two of them with fluid yet unyielding strikes. She put them both on their asses with quick jabs to the stomach, jaw, ribs.

Michonne flipped her hair out of her face calmly, trying again to complete the distance between her and the wall where her katana hung.

Starbuck was back, smiling excitedly with a bleeding lip, having shaken off her tumble. Her reappearance gave the other two confidence, and they were all on Michonne again before she could reach the wall. She breathed, and they attacked, growing more frustrated with each failure to best her.

"Shit, shit, _shit!_ " Shane was sputtering, reaching to remove his weapon from its holster and stalking toward the melee as he raised it, not knowing what the hell he intended to do with it. "'Drea, go get Rick!"

"Like hell..." Andrea looked like she wanted to join them.

"Damn it, woman!" His eyes watered as he watched the REPLICANT block every blow the three highly-skilled peacekeepers threw at her with blinding speed and precision.

"She's gonna kill 'em." Abe was simply enjoying the show.

"The fuck she is." Sasha ground out, stepping forward to pull her lover out of the fight. "Rosita, STOP!"

"Fuck this bitch, Sash!" Rosita shook her off harshly, out of breath as she rushed back and continued in vain to even graze an unharmed, increasingly impatient Captain Snow.

" _...your mind can be ready to counter their force, density and trajectory much faster than even they can move, if you trust your instincts. Do not fight to harm, Michonne. Fight to diffuse. Fight to defend. Fight to_ _ **protect.**_ "

DATA's advice helped her remember that she wasn't just defending herself against people she once called friends. She was protecting them, as well, otherwise there was no knowing the damage she would cause.

She breathed, saw an opportunity, and leapt up to pivot her body off of the wall. She grabbed her sword and spun around to land while unsheathing it. Bishop and Starbuck tried to double team her again, one with a stool, the other with electrified fighting clubs newly activated, having grabbed them from the wall as well. Sparks flew as the women sparred, her sword against their weapons all at once. She breathed, and before Starbuck knew it, she had spiked one of the electrified clubs from her hand and caught it. She twirled it in her palm and got a good grip, crossing it with her katana to really show them something, if they persisted. Though she could see defeat in their eyes. She could see them reconsidering her as they attacked with less and less confidence. To end this, Michonne sliced through the stool with her sword, kicking one of the pieces out of her face.

She sent it flying across the room, almost taking Shane's head off. "Whoa! _Stop this._ Now, all of you!"

Then Chief Watson's voice: "Captain Snow. Stand down. I don't wanna shoot you."

Michonne froze. She didn't think a single shot could take her out, but them feeling it necessary to shoot her to stop her was a bad thing. On top of that...she could feel him, now. Rick.

She took in each and every detail of the scene she'd left in the wake of her fight to defend herself. Rosita sprawled on her back, glaring, being helped up by Sasha. Starbuck and Bishop standing down, hurt but still defiant, breathing hard, looking at her with new eyes. Everyone else gaping, tense. Eugene, Heath, Chief Watson...and yes, now Rick, having rushed down here with a call from JACK.

They were all staring at her. She calmly lowered her sword, sheathed it, and placed it across her back, where it belonged. Silence befell the room. Rick stepped toward her, his eyes shining as he surveyed the tussle that went down over the removal of a katana from the wall they'd dedicated to the dead. His gaze passed over her again, now a complete vision of her old self with the hair and the sword, and she could see her own ghost swimming in his icy ocean blues.

"We're done here." Every head turned to heed Rick, even the chief. His eyes cut away from Michonne to land on Andrea. Shane. Sasha. Starbuck. Bishop. Finally, with hard authority, Rosita. "Right?"

Rosita rubbed her aching ribs and finally relented, nodding tersely. Rick turned back to Michonne expectantly.

She stood her ground. "Right."

They stared across the room at each other. Even now, she felt drawn to the pull of his warm, beating lifeforce. She felt as though the world faded away to the dark vastness of netspace. There was just Rick, and what emanated from him, calling out to her. The moment stretched on forever, though it couldn't have lasted more than a few seconds.

He could see her. Really _see_ her. He looked just as drawn to, and yet afraid of, what he saw.

Suddenly, a blaring alarm sounded, causing the immediate shift of the orange "sunlight" to bright red alert. The moment was lost as JACK's voice boomed in on them:

" _I hate to interrupt but we have an emergency - a hybrid terrorist attack on Level Three. It's the president's tower. T-District is holding them off now, but they're calling for backup."_

"Why backup for a handful o'hybrids?" Shane holstered his weapon, glad to be done with the domestic drama for now.

" _Dude, I_ _ **wish**_ _this was just a handful…"_

JACK replied.

A holoscreen came down from the red heavens and showed them up top. The T-District peacekeepers were in the middle of a firefight with what appeared to be something like a hundred rebels. They had come out of nowhere. They were being blindsided. Maggie's people were taking heavy hits, and what was more alarming than that - the rebels had war dogs. Illegal military grade walker tech that could only have come from one place. The Gates of Hell.

"Rick." Chief Watson glared over at her first in command. He nodded slowly, only tearing his eyes from the scene to acknowledge her silent message. Everything she'd been telling him in her office was playing out before their eyes. Monroe was dead wrong. What she'd done this morning had already triggered a chain reaction. They hadn't been ready. _He_ hadn't been ready. It was GATUS all over again.

Michonne watched the war dogs, discerning everything she needed to know about them in seconds. Like miniaturized versions of the tank that blew Ford's arm to smithereens, these highly advanced guns were on four legs that had one objective - kill. They were extremely efficient at it.

"Fuck me with a gerbil…" Abe's stump of a cigar fell out of his mouth. "Where the fuck did _they_ come from?"

" _Goddamnit._ Did Daryl's spies not pick up on this shit?" Rick barked, unable to keep his eyes off of the holoscreen.

" _I can't raise Dixon at the moment, boss. I'll keep trying."_

JACK answered seriously, for once.

Rick looked furious. Andrea and Sasha exchanged heated looks. They thought it was Maggie they needed to worry about. JACK continued more urgently:

" _In the meantime, terrorist attack? Happening as we speak? I've taken the liberty of bringing your flyers online while I assess the chatter. You all need to move,_ _ **now.**_ "

"I'm coming with you. Snow, you're up. Let's see what _else_ you can do." Dallas announced, nodding to Rick to follow her lead as she was the first out of the hall.

Rick looked anything but happy with her orders, but carried on barking out his own. "Heath, Eugene, get up to the bullpen. Get me eyes and ears on everything. Everyone else get your shit, you got _fifty seconds_ to be in the air, let's GO!"

The group snapped out of their dramatic standoff and began to file out of the hall quickly as the red alert continued to blare. Rick stood still, as did Michonne, for a moment longer before springing to action. Usually, she would be heading into the fight at _his_ side, in _his_ flyer. Not today. She could plainly see the finality of that decision in his eyes.

"You're with me, REP." Abraham bellowed as he gestured for Michonne to follow.

As if relieved that Abraham remembered his assignment, Rick backed up, turned on his heel, and rushed out with his crew, his holster bouncing against his hip. Michonne followed after her new partner. The crew ran through the red-washed tunnels as JACK ran through the bullet of their situation.

" _Okay, guys, this is exactly as jackshit insane as it looks. Several of the terrorists are identified as hybrid resistance leaders from Daryl's border district, specifically with ties to Negan and the Saviors. We got faces, no names yet - they've somehow scrubbed themselves from the cloud. Yes, those_ _ **are**_ _wardogs, and there are already six - seven, eight - fatalities._ _ **You need to hurry.**_ "

Eugene and Heath were back in the bullpen to take over comms support by the time Michonne flew past it with Abraham out of the B-DP, headed for their rides. She followed Abraham out to his rusty old cargo flyer and climbed in, having to take a moment to reconcile how different this felt. She catalogued everything as she sat down in Glenn's old seat and the old girl rumbled to life. She watched through his windshield, the holoscreen active and now showing them the metadata they'd need to chase down the trouble brewing up top as it came in real time.

Rick was climbing into his flyer with Watson climbing in on the other side.

She longed for him. Abraham noticed.

"Hey, REP." He chose to toss her a bone, chewing on his nearly kaput cigar. "Nice work up there. I get it. You're a badass. So if you got somethin' fancy to show us with your badass that helps us take these rebels out? Now's the time. You game?"

Michonne closed her eyes. She was already tapped into the cloud, and beyond it, netspace. Homing in on the entities engaged in the battle up top. She felt them, all of them. Her friends, her extended Family, alive and moving; heat signatures in the vacuum of netspace. Like a sonar symphony, she picked up on each and every entity - digital, human and hybrid alike. The more she concentrated, the closer she came to them. And then she found something in the ether.

A face. Their leader. The one who controlled the war dogs.

Michonne opened her eyes and nodded, stoic. She strapped in. "I got you. Let's go."

Abraham grinned. "JACK! Road music, maestro."

Steppenwolf's _Magic Carpet Ride_ erupted through the speakers in the flyer, and Abraham gunned it.

 _ **Well, you don't know what we can find**_

 _ **Why don't you come with me little girl**_

 _ **On a magic carpet ride?**_

Michonne found Rick and listened out for him as they ascended to the Top.

This would not be another GATUS. She would make sure of that.

 _ **You don't know what we can see**_

 _ **Why don't you tell your dreams to me**_

 _ **Fantasy will set you free!**_

"Hey, Abe!" She shouted over the booming classic rock tune. "Don't call me REP!"

"You help us beat these fucks, I'll call ya anything you want!" He grinned over at her as he zipped this way and that through traffic. She grinned back.

And suddenly, she felt a presence. Such a presence, it drowned out the sound of the blaring music as they maneuvered steadily upward. Biosignatures she hadn't expected to feel, chasing their battalion across the city. Michonne turned from Abe's grinning, bellowing face, tuning out Rick's orders and JACK's reports. She concentrated, her eyes searching the city, zooming into viewers, between buildings, over the tower tops, searching for this warm, familiar, stirring presence.

She found him. Briefly. He was in disguise, he was riding on a hoverbike. He was there and gone again. He was following them. And he wasn't alone.

"Carl…?" She whispered, her voice stolen by the booming music and JACK's announcement that they were coming up on the scene in a few seconds. The hyper-saturated reality of the firefight they were landing in came rushing back and she was forced to abandon her search, redirecting her concentration as they zoomed around the president's tower.

 _ **Close your eyes girl**_

 _ **Look inside girl**_

 _ **Let the sound take you awaaaaay!**_

Michonne was sure she had felt Carl. And he was headed this way. Right into the fight.

* * *

 **Again, I am so very grateful for your patience with me.**

 **Fight scenes are so hard to write for me, still, but I think I'm getting better? I hope so because the next installment is a big one.**

 **More more more to come.**

 **THANK YOU!**

 **-K**


	15. the wrong side

**_A/N: So listen you guys...I've no idea why I write the stuff I write, except to say that I've been having a love affair with science fiction since I was old enough to discover the genre. While this is an epic slow burn centered around RICHONNE, are going to see numerous references, some quite overt, and some kind of obscure, to the many many different movies and television series that have influenced me over the years. Let it be like a game of 'I Spy' :) Enjoy._**

* * *

 _Written to the musical score of…_

' _Over The Edge', Symmetry_

* * *

 _ **Ciphering...**_

 _ **[Unconfirmed Dark Net Chatter]**_

…

 _ **The Gates of Hell...**_

 _ **Northern Border Region..**_

 _ **11 hours until T-District attack...**_

…

At near three in the morning, the very deadly, very blue assassin and thief Merle Dixon emerged from the rusty, shuddering automatic doors of the Brick House, his favorite hybrid saloon. There was just somethin' about hybrid babes with hardware permanently fused to their lovely, downy flesh that got him harder than steel. Since he was a bit of a metal mohawked freak himself, he reckoned it was exactly where he belonged.

'Cept now it was time to go to work. Hybrid pussy would have to wait another few days.

Merle stepped out onto the curb and took a look upward, gazing at the ashen sky. Bright neon holograms were alive with visuals around every building, tinting the corrupt city all manner of colors. Purple, red, gold, sparkling pink. Flyers zooming this way and that. No sky bridges over here; no towers; but there was the arena. The Grid. Merle's gaze lingered on it a moment. It was gargantuan, inescapable, built on a mass walker grave by bots and cyborgs way out here in the charred wilds, and its lights shone the brightest. You could spot it in the distance from anywhere in this hellhole because of the horn-shaped broadcast towers that sent out gruesome scenes of death to every remaining eyeball in the rotten world.

The hybrid assassin's black leather trench coat fanned out around him in the toxic wind as he started a leisurely stroll. He lit up a blue flame cigar as he went. The embers burned almost as cobalt as his permanently altered skin and he took in a big drag, keeping his eyes peeled.

There was always trouble behind the Gates of Hell. Regardless of the hour, the streets were crawling with lowlives lookin' for some poor fool to rob, rape, or take some shit out on. Anything and everything was for sale here. Had to keep your damned eyes peeled, even if a mere whistle from you could explode a man's heart. Most in this city knew not to fuck with ole Merle. Still, sometimes a knucklehead tried.

Merle was on his way to meet up with some of his boys and pay a very special visit to a very special friend. If that wanna-be dealer Nero didn't have what he needed, he was gonna lose his head. Merle had been itchin' to decapitate a man since he saw the last deathmatch on The Grid.

Stepping off the curb and into an alley, he was about to mount his bike hidden under a holographic illusion of a broken waste incinerator, when he noticed a hybrid spare parts truck where there shouldn't have been one.

"Come on out, little bro." He rasped with a hell of a lot more patience than his little shit brother deserved, hooking his thumbs into his belt.

Daryl, still hidden behind an oil spill of hair, came around into view from behind the truck. His broad shoulders were tense, his jaw rigid. He was being a pussy about somethin', Merle knew.

"What's on yer mind, boy?" His high-pitched, sandpaper growl cut through the overlapping sounds of the city. A red current of power rippled across his fin-shaped mohawk. "Make it quick."

"Is it true?" Daryl demanded, his voice barely audible under the sounds of zooming flyers and commotion. He stood taller and glared at Merle. "You g'on let those things loose in _my_ city? With _my_ people?"

Merle smirked, chuckling a bit. "Oh, baby bro. You have no idea."

"Yes the hell I do, asshole." Daryl barked with zero patience in his voice or demeanor. "You know I got spies all over, so don't fuckin' lie to me."

"Them so-called spies o'yours are only alive 'cause I let 'em live, boy. Shoot, at this point they work for _me_." Merle cut into him, itching to whistle. "Shame they went and spilled the beans. I might hafta do somethin' about that. But after what's comin', they ain't gonna make a bit of difference, nohow. You best heed my warnin', Daryl. It's the only one you'll get."

"Nah, I'm _done_ protectin' you, Merle."

"YOU? Protect _ME?!_ " Merle roared, drool dropping from his bottom lip. "You got that just about as ass back-erds as you got everythang else, boy. Run along, before I gut you for my trouble."

Daryl grunted with frustration, looking away from his brother at a bot chasing a petty thief from one of the small food flyers hovering above them. He paced like a spooked mutt. "You're on the wrong side o'this."

"Is that so?" Merle rocked on his heavy, old-fashioned steel-toed boots, showing off a wide, grizzly smile. For just a moment, he tried to reason with his brother. "I know, I'm the only blood you got left in this world. But if you try to go up against Negan, all you'll be to me is dead."

Daryl stalked up to him. "You wasn't ever any good as a brother, anyway."

"Aw, shucks, now my feelings are hurtin'." Merle clutched at his heart sarcastically. "Go home. Don't say nothin'. I ain't gonna ask nicely again."

The eldest Dixon sucked his chipped, crooked teeth, genuinely torn for wanting to smack some sense into his kinfolk or just let him make his bed. In the end, he had to harden what tiny piece of his heart he had left. He turned his back, walking again toward his disguised flyer.

They both disappeared into their holographic shields and seconds later, their flyers were revealed. They both flew bikes. And both hated that about the other. Merle waited and watched his little brother take off, then followed suit in the opposite direction.

But Daryl was a tracker. He had learned from the best. He couldn't be shaken off so easy.

Rather than tuck his tail between his legs and scoot across the border, he turned around at his first opportunity and followed his brother into the bowels of The Gates of Hell.

* * *

…

 _ **Hybrid City Underbelly/D-Level**_

 _ **Marauder's Market..**_

 _ **3 hours until T-District attack...**_

…

"Jude, quit playin' around over there."

"I'm not playing, genius, I'm scavenging."

Judith crouched to watch a REPLICANT melon slug cautiously make its way into the shadows created by the piping that ran along the bowels of the city.

She smiled to herself, fascinated, remembering what its insides looked like from her research of all of Dr. Jones's creations. A tangled jumble of wires surrounded by viscous goo. Its processor was no bigger than an ink dot from the tip of a pen. But it was autonomous, programmed to live out its existence as 'nature intended' - and could very well be squashed at any moment. Judith intended to ask the great doctor about this when she finally met him in person. Why painstakingly create such intricately beautiful beings in those big factories way out in the wilds, only to face the death and chaos of the world alone?

Carl stood somewhat shielding her from view while keeping an eye out for his friends, who'd be arriving any minute. His arms folded under his poncho, his hat worn low over his stormy blue eyes that matched his father's, he contemplated the possibility of Michonne. Back to life. In some weird way, he could appreciate the president's twisted logic. She could be just the ally they needed.

Also, he reckoned, what if Judith was right? Could this resurrected Michonne bring their father back? Make him happy again, in her simplified terms? A lot of people thought Rick lived with Michonne's ghost, but in Carl's mind, it was his father who was the ghost. Drifting aimlessly, unable to move on from reliving the same trauma over and over in a ceaseless fog of grief.

Carl spotted the top of a familiar head of dark woolen hair bobbing through the ambling crowd of mostly hybrid shoppers. It was Noah on his hoverboard, doing ollies on the piping and zipping through narrow spaces in the crowd to reach him. Carl soon spotted Enid's ponytail and Ron's everpresent military-style cap making the same types of moves in his direction.

Enid, Noah, and Ron all landed and hopped off their hoverboards like a mismatched, modestly armed street gang. Judith reached under a large pipe, into the shadows, and pulled back a carefully closed fist, tucking it into her satchel briefly before joining her big brother.

"'Bout time, jerks, where's Sam?" She inquired nonchalantly before Carl could even greet his friends, squinting up at them expectantly through her glasses.

Enid stuck her tongue out at Judith while the boys rolled their eyes with restrained annoyance. "He's too slow on that junk pile he's flying around. Why are you all slimy, four eyes?"

She gave the kid a hug, examining her slimy hand. Judith shrugged and wiped it on her shirt as Enid reached up and tentatively hugged Carl. The eight-year-old noticed the flush on Enid's cheeks as she let him go and stepped back.

Ron adjusted his cap so more of his eternally harsh expression was revealed. "Don't worry about Sam, he'll catch up. So why are we out here, Carl?"

"Yeah man, I got housework to do. This better be good." Noah agreed, wiping his brow of his perspiration from all the steam blowing around off the pipes down there. "You're lucky E dragged my ass out here."

Carl's and Enid's eyes met. She looked so pretty Carl had to give her a once over. She also looked pretty intimidating with those shooters strapped to her thighs. Out of all his friends, her expression was actually encouraging rather than suspicious.

"You guys saw the news. There's a human REPLICANT now." Carl forced himself to get serious, putting his attraction to his good friend Enid aside, "She also happens to be someone I used to know."

"Oh okay, so you called a meeting to gloat about your family connection to the first human REP in existence?" Ron scoffed sarcastically, "So you know The Samurai, so what?"

"Sooo, she's gonna take us to Dr. Jones," Judith filled him in snidely.

Noah and Enid looked a little impressed. Ron held out. "That's your story, Grimes?"

Carl hesitated, but decided to come clean. "Well, yeah, but that's not all of it. I've been watching the chatter for weeks, and -"

" _Ahem,_ " Judith cleared her throat loudly, glaring at him.

"I mean, _Judith has been helping me_ watch the chatter for weeks. The rebels are way more organized and powerful than anyone expects. I think they've had help."

"So what are you bothering us about it for? Isn't that why Command made the REP?" Ron let his exasperation with Carl's conspiracy theories show in his entire demeanor.

Carl knew what was _really_ bothering Ron, but chose not to bring it up here, now. He switched tack. "I think Command _wants_ this war. I think that's what they're training us for."

"Wait, for real?" Noah's eyes bugged out. "Damn. Ma keeps threatening to send me to the Academy, but I'm not trying to die a soldier in some bloody war."

"Me either." Enid shook her head, her arms crossed over her chest. "Screw that."

"But that's exactly where we're headed." Carl pushed gravely. "This secret vote, bringing Michonne back, pissing off the rebels...I just don't know _why_ yet." He got excited about what he was saying, showing them the calculating gleam in his eyes that Judith had been witnessing for weeks. "Okay, and I know this sounds crazy, but there were rumors about this massive cargo flyer getting shot down out in the wilds three nights ago. They're saying on the dark net that there was something really valuable on that flyer...and _no one else_ is talking about it. The peacekeepers are too busy bickering to see what's coming, it wasn't on the news, my dad doesn't even know, or care. You don't think that's weird?"

"I think there's a reason they call it the dark net. Rumors aren't proof of shit. Besides, did you hear any rumors about your REP? _No._ And here we are." Ron was stubbornly unconvinced. He shook his head slowly, the fear of getting in trouble first in his mind. "You wanna get us sent to The Grid? Trusting some rumors?"

"I'm willing to risk it. But you're right, we need proof. I think I know where we can get it." Carl insisted, "and her name isn't REP, it's Michonne."

"Man, no offense but this sounds kinda dangerous…" Noah spoke up. Getting themselves killed by their parents, the Smiths, or some jacked up REPLICANT on a housework day sounded kinda crazy to him. Or kinda crazy _fun._ He couldn't decide.

Carl grit his teeth. "That's why I need your help. If you want out after today, fine."

"So why wouldn't Michonne just turn us in to your dad?" Enid played devil's advocate.

Judith's ponytail swung back and forth between them as she watched their debate impatiently.

"She was our friend. I know she'll help us." Carl told her, hoping they'd understand and trust his hunch. "If we get proof maybe she can help us get through to my dad."

"We're gonna get caught, man." Ron persisted.

Carl challenged him, "You talk all that shit during drills, and _now_ you're scared? We won't get caught. Let's go to Zeke's. I'll show you."

Carl could see his words affecting Ron as Sam finally caught up with them, landing awkwardly on the custom hoverbike he built from spare parts and scraps. "Hi, guys. What did I miss?"

"We're gonna meet The Samurai and she's gonna take us to Dr. Jones," Judith filled him in under her breath as he came to stand next to her, "but first we gotta go undercover."

" _Really?_ " Sam's eyes lit up. "Cool! I'm in!"

Enid laughed and returned her gaze to Carl. "Sure, me too. I got nothin' else to do with my day."

She had been in from the moment he called the meeting, and it wasn't just because she had a huge crush on him. She wanted to meet the REPLICANT up close, too.

"I gotta admit, I'm curious," Ron finally relented. He had his reasons, but he wasn't about to reveal them. "Let's do it, then. If we get caught, I'm gonna kill you on The Grid myself."

"Not funny, Ron," Enid scolded him. Ron rolled his eyes but didn't offer a retort.

"Ma's probably realizing I snuck out right about now, so I'm as good as dead anyway. Alright, I guess I'm in," Noah reluctantly followed suit. He had never actually met the other version of Captain Snow when she was alive. Even though he doubted it would happen, a chance to meet Dr. Jones was also too good to pass up. "You think the Samurai would pose for a holoscan with me?"

Carl laughed and helped Judith hop onto the back of his bike. "Sure man, whatever."

The gang of kids all mounted their flyers and zoomed off through the maze of piping, steam, and market dwellers towards Zeke's.

* * *

…

 _ **The Gates of Hell...**_

 _ **Location Unknown..**_

…

"Okay, it's not a big deal, you just say it like you practiced…"

Somewhere deep in the bowels of sin city paced the lanky, sharply-dressed walker tech dealer Lenny Nero. Running an anxious hand through his slick hair, he checked his vintage Rolex (what passed for one, anyway) whilst muttering under his breath to himself to settle his nerves.

"You've done this song and dance a thousand times. You've earned your reputation here, t-this is just business. Just business. Negan will understand. He might even thank you for this."

"Like hell, he will," countered his partner and lover Mace, examining her nails out of boredom. "Lenny, we both know we are _not_ getting out of this."

Lenny screwed his eyes shut as if trying to block out a nagging inner voice. "Mace, do you mind? I'm trying to give myself a pep talk, here."

"Is it working?" She raised an eyebrow at him, on the verge of being amused.

"Not with you interrupting me every five minutes, no, it's not."

"Do you want me to talk to them?"

He stopped pacing, considering her for a moment. Taking a deep breath, he finally shook his head, gazing past her at the cargo flyer she was leaning against. What was inside could make them rich. It was also some of the deadliest walker tech in existence. Being wealthy wouldn't matter one little bit if they lost control of those things. "Why do I get myself into this shit, Mace?" he asked dejectedly.

"Because you always see the profit beyond the means, baby. And because that crazy motherfucker owns us," Mace told him as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. She winked at him, unleashing that gorgeous smile of hers. "Now let's just sell the damn things and get far the fuck away from this hell hole. Be cool. You know I got you."

"Baby, you always know just what to say." Lenny marched over to give her a heated, tongue-laden kiss when they were interrupted.

"Ouch, little mama…" They heard a high-pitched, raspy voice from the shadows, just before Merle Dixon came strolling into the only source of light from the gutters above them. "It hurts to hear you talkin' all that smack about leavin' town without sayin' goodbye to ole Merle."

Six more dangerous looking figures emerged from the dark, flanking him. His crew of thieves and killers. Mace stood up straight, on alert, while Lenny adjusted his tie and tried to be cool as she advised.

"Merle." His better half greeted their buyer tersely.

"I wish you'd give me a wee bit of a smile, Macie. You're too pretty to be all frowned up like that."

"I'll smile when you pay us."

"That can be arranged." A telling red currant shot across the mohawk affixed to his head. He pursed his thin lips and let out a low whistle, causing Mace and Lenny both to tense. His arrow was at his side, suddenly. Merle let loose a gnarled grin. "Y'all ain't thinkin' of pullin' out of this, now are ya?"

Lenny laughed, crossing the distance between them, lifting his hands in surrender to the molten arrow floating near Merle's shoulder. "Merle, come _onnnn_ , look at my face. It's Lenny and Mace! Would we do that to you?"

Mace just wanted their payout so they could get the hell out of dodge.

Merle eyed them both a moment before whistling again. His weapon put away, he allowed Lenny to lead him toward the cargo flyer in a huddle. "Now what I have for you today is state of the art and, quite frankly, fatal as fuck."

"That's what I like to hear, Nero! Show me the good shit." Merle brushed Lenny's hand off his shoulder and turned to gesture for his boys to stand down. "Unpucker your assholes, everybody."

Lenny swallowed with relief and nodded for Mace to open the flyer doors. She stepped forward and waved her wrist in front of the scanner on the lock. Her tattoo activated the key code. The doors came to life, unlocking and sliding open with a heavy, metal on metal _thunk, thunk_.

Inside, powered down and tucked away on rows of shelves, were dozens of war dogs. The deadliest of President Monroe's experiments in weaponizing walker tech. Decommissioned after a massacre at a black site where she conducted most of her top secret bullshit. The shit no one was supposed to know about. Now officially part of Negan's fleet in the rebellion.

Merle lit up like a kid in a candy store. "Yes siree Bob, this is what I'm talkin' about. How do you turn them suckers on? I want a little preview."

"No!" Both Mace and Lenny shouted.

"What are you, crazy, man?" Lenny raised a hand for caution, his gauche ring flashing in the faint light. "Listen to me Merle, these things are very fucking efficient. _They do not stop_." He grabbed hold of a startled Merle's shoulders. "That part is _imperative_. You gotta tell Negan, I-I can't be responsible for the consequences if you lose control. We're talking extinction level stuff. Walkers are fruit flies next to these things. Cyborgs? Forget it. No chance in hell." He laughed loudly, causing Merle to rear a fist at him, startled _and_ annoyed now. "Do you get the gist, here? Don't say I didn't warn you."

"Consider me warned, chief." Merle shook Lenny off and smoothed his coat out with his hands. "You got the intel, I'll make sure my men know it like their A, B, C's."

"Oh, that's comforting." Mace deadpanned, reaching into her leather jacket to retrieve the holoscanner with the data concerning the war dogs. She handed it to Merle and crossed her arms expectantly. "You got the four million?"

Merle blew a kiss her way and reached into the inner pocket of his trench coat. He pulled out his own holoscanner, containing the code that would gain them access to the four million they were shilling out for the illegal walker tech. "As promised, Macie."

 _Call me Macie again, I'll shoot that fin off your peanut head,_ her eyes read as she took the scanner and tucked it into her bosom. All she said, however, was "Thanks."

Lenny took Merle's hand and shook it, relieved to be getting out of there with his head, and four million richer. "As always, pleasure doing business with you, Merle. Give Negan my best."

"Oh no, no, no, not so fast, there chief," Merle sneered. "We ain't done doin' business quite yet."

"Now what the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Mace snapped, sick of getting tricked. "Negan made it clear, this was our _last_ job. There's no going back on that."

"I'm afraid there is, Mace." Another voice spoke up from among Merle's possie. Simon, Negan's right hand man, stepped forward with his shooter cradled at his hips. His maniacal grin sent his salt and pepper handlebar mustache spreading wide across his face. Mace sighed heavily with resignation at the sight of him. "You see, Negan has another job for you. It just sorta _popped_ into his _head_ while you were gone." He sniffed, fingering the trigger of the remote clipped to his belt; the one that controlled the implants in their skulls. Merle eyed it with envy. Lenny and Mace eyed it with trepidation. "Now...y'all can try to wiggle out of it if you want, but...somethin' tells me you won't be doing that."

Lenny and Mace exchanged looks, bracing themselves. "What is it?" She gritted.

Deep in the shadows, invisible to them all, Daryl was watching.

* * *

…

 _ **Hybrid City Underbelly/D-Level...**_

 _ **Zeke's Grill..**_

…

All eyes were glued to the holoscreen in the tiny, hot little kitchen at the back of Zeke's old fashioned diner flyer. The two fry cooks, Lafayette and Jerry, were so busy gobbling up every scrap of news they could about the surprise arrival of the world's first human REPLICANT that they failed to notice their first order of the day coming in.

Jerry rubbed his beard, fanboying over the images of Captain Michonne Snow being projected on a loop while some analyst flapped his gums. "I feel like we should name a milkshake after her, or something, you know? The Prez is right, we should celebrate this!"

"Don't let any of these hard headed hybrids out c'here catch you saying that, hooker." Lafayette scoffed from his leaning position against his steel counter. "And, if you think naming one of those moldy things is gonna help 'em sell, my pretty ass feels sorry for you." He pointed at the holoscreen. "Besides, this queen is entirely too fabulous for a funky milkshake. Look at how _shook_ she got Grizzly Grimes!"

Jerry laughed as Lafayette dipped his hips and raised his hands in reverence to Captain Snow. "Dude, I wanted to become a peacekeeper because of fighters like her…"

"And yet here you are...slangin fake ass burger meat." His fellow fry cook deadpanned, glued to the gossip. "What happened to that dream?"

"I chickened out, I guess. And then that explosion..." Jerry sighed and wiped his hands on his apron, still eyeing the action on screen as they showed Michonne answering questions at the press conference. "At least she went out like a badass, taking on GATUS like that. She was _The Samurai_ , you know?"

"Mmm-hmm." Lafayette agreed, not at all interested in cooking anything with all the commotion going on today. "Still is. And I'll bet homeboy is confused as hell about it, too. Look at him." He stared at the awkwardness of Rick Grimes standing next to his resurrected partner, reading the tea leaves in their body language. He found himself thinking about those hellion kids, wondering how they were taking all this.

As if on cue, a little blonde head popped up in the lone viewer near the holoscreen they were watching. "Hi LaLa! Hi Jerry!" It was Judith, and hers was followed by another little head. Sam. "Where's Zeke?"

"Hey, Jude!" Jerry grinned and waved, laughing at his own joke, as he'd done every single time he saw her over the years - even when she was a baby.

Like a well-staged comedy bit, Ezekiel's graying locs and handsome face popped up in the window leading out to the rest of the diner, looking exasperated. "Jerry! LaLa! I don't see any cooking! It is no mystery to me now that we never have any customers. My cooks refuse to do their jobs!"

"I think that has more to do with the really scary tiger sunning herself on your roof, Mr. Z. Hiya, can we come in?" Judith greeted him from the other side of the kitchen, still hovering in the viewer with Sam.

Ezekiel took one look at her and knew he was in trouble. He grinned widely.

* * *

 **Next: The first strike, and Michonne shows 88 hybrid rebels (plus every peacekeeper there) what she can really do. Plus, Carl and Michonne finally reunite, though it won't exactly be a happy reunion. Can Carl convince Michonne to help investigate corruption inside Command?**

 **We'll find out how Daryl was in two places at once, and where the hell he is now, and what the hell he thinks he's up to. And then finally, _finally_...Rick comes around to trusting Michonne.**

 **There is a public playlist for this story on Spotify, entitled 'Machine Heart | The Soundtrack'. Also, you'll find world-building visuals on my Tumblr (kendrawriter, key search words 'machine heart' and 'inspiration').**

 **-K**


	16. the first strike

_Written to the musical score of…_

' _Combat', by Johnny Jewel_

* * *

…

 _ **T-DP/Level 2..**_

 _ **6 minutes until attack...**_

…

Maggie stood facing the expansive viewers behind the desk in her office.

Staring without seeing. Thinking. Planning.

Beneath her, the muted activity of the Top District carried on, oblivious. Clusters of the wealthiest citizens and Command personnel moved across her vision in the T-DP courtyard a few levels below like pixelated figurines. The sun bounced off the surfaces of various flyers cruising past her. Since the gates of this city began to open to refugees from the wilds a little over a decade ago, the life it played host to had evolved. Economy began anew. Politics became a concern again. Hybrids were a rapidly growing population among them. Walker tech would soon make her job obsolete.

Maggie was tired. She was owed. And the more she thought about it, the more certain she became that Rick was a fool if he rejected the gift he'd been given, regardless of its source. If he was smart, he'd take the REPLICANT and run.

If they could bring Michonne back, could they - _would_ they - bring Glenn back? And for what? To serve and protect the city that destroyed him to begin with?

The secrecy of it. The unfairness of it. These things she could not shake so easily this morning. Her ability to remain numb and neutral was failing her.

While she awaited a report from Baker that the doubled security around the towers and known hybrid gathering points throughout the city was complete, Maggie made peace with the fact that this plan forming in her mind could get her executed on _The Grid_. But she also knew that dreaming her life away was a coward's suicide. If she was going to die, she'd rather die for this. She didn't think she could focus on anything else until she'd set her plan in motion. She needed to talk to Daryl again, in person, in secret. He was the only one who could help her. The only one who'd keep his damn mouth shut.

Just one problem. She'd been unable to reach Daryl since their brief call. Things in his district seemed to have quieted down since the press conference, which surprised her. Maggie roused herself from intense concentration and called out to the tower COMPANION.

"MAY..."

" _Captain?"_

"Where did Dixon call from this mornin'?"

She waited as MAY traced the call.

" _Sgt. Dixon's call this morning came from Hybrid City. And...Captain? You're not going to like this…"_

"What? Did you find him?"

" _Negative. There's been a manual Command Defense override, disconnecting me from life support systems control without authorization. Someone's - "_

MAY didn't continue. Everything around Maggie went offline, sucking the energy from the air, killing the lights. The resulting quiet was so eerie, it sent a sliver of dread down her spin.

This was no glitch. Something was very, very wrong.

In the courtyard below she saw two big armored flyers landing haphazardly. A dozen _things_ on four legs spilled out of them in rapid succession, like newly hatched spiders. They were followed by masked rebels. The rebels started shooting, sending citizens and Command personnel scattering for their lives.

The tower was being attacked.

Another flyer crash-landed through the viewers below her, probably killing whomever occupied that floor.

Maggie felt the floor vibrating beneath her feet as the skyscraper swayed slightly from the impact. She listened, tense, the hairs on her arms and neck standing at attention. Then she heard it. Shots. Inside. Lots of them. They snapped to existence, detonating the silence in an eruption of shouting and shooting coming from right outside her door. She turned to face her empty office, expecting to find a gang of rebel terrorists bursting in on her any second. Sweat sprouted across her hairline as she pulled her shooter from its holster and aimed it at her door, ready to take down as many as she could on sight.

The harsh red glow of the emergency evacuation beacons filled the space around her, pulsing like an ominous, deafening heartbeat.

Maggie swallowed down her dread as Baker and two other peacekeepers came barrelling through the automatic doors, their shooters drawn.

"We've got a problem." Baker huffed, his face flushed and sweaty as they forced the doors shut and barricaded them. "The rebels are inside."

"No shit. Mind tellin' me _why we didn't see this coming?_ " Maggie berated him as she blasted open a panel in her wall to get at her weapon stash. She took out two HV shooters and handed one to Baker.

"I don't know, Captain. We've been monitoring the city and the dark net for hours, there's been _nothing_. They came out of nowhere. It doesn't make any sense."

"We need to clear a path, create a distraction, try to get everyone out safely..." Maggie ignored his frustrating excuses and concentrated on trying to formulate a plan.

"Fat chance," grunted one of the peacekeepers, a sharp shooter called Howard. He looked spooked. "They shut down all access points and locked us out of life support. We're trapped in here until they pick us off. Nobody's getting out alive."

"They sent in war dogs." Baker confirmed before she could retort. The spider things. She had only heard dark tales of them; of the massacre they'd committed when they'd been manufactured in secret. They were supposed to have all been destroyed.

Maggie didn't answer, though her eyes went wide with alarm. This was going to be yet another massacre. They were definitely not here for hostages. So what the fuck did they want?

How did a bunch of rebels manage to procure one of the deadliest weapons ever to be whispered about on the dark net, let alone gain access to MAY? Someone (or several someones) on the inside must've left the back door open, so to speak. Baker seemed to come to the same realization as they armed themselves under the flashing red tint of the emergency lights. "Let's move. We need to get MAY back online."

Maggie saw Baker's eyes turn sharply from her face and she turned with them to observe a pentagon-shaped machine on four legs crawling across the thick glass of her viewers. The machine, about the size of a pit bull, blasted a hole through the glass, sending gusts of chilly air across her office. Before their eyes, it cracked open a bigger hole and quickly, deftly lunged itself inside. They started shooting, but the thing doged their blasts with superhuman speed, blowing holes in everything around them, sending them all diving for cover.

It crawled across the ceiling and dropped to the middle of her office floor, flipping over just like a heavy, deadly spider. Maggie's eyes went huge as she realized what it was going to do.

" _GET OUT, NOW,_ _ **MOVE!**_ " The captain heaved her large, heavy alloy desk over on its side with all of her might, using it as a barrier between herself and certain death. In seconds the machine had hunkered down and opened metal plates on its body, blasting projectiles from its innards across the room. Maggie heard Baker and the other peacekeepers get hit in rapid succession as they tried to shoot, scramble out of the way, or remove the barricade to escape. It all ended with a series of dull, sickening mini-explosions _,_ followed by the unmistakable smell of blood and the sight of brain matter splattering across her walls.

She knew they were dead. She had not one second to dwell on the loss. Every single person in this tower was now in mortal danger.

Maggie tossed the first thing she got her hands on at the massive hole the war dog had made in the viewers. The machine immediately blasted a bigger one after it, knocking the entire structure out of its frame. The destroyed viewer crumbled outward as wind and noise cascaded inward. The young captain took the opportunity and rolled away, praying that neither the fall nor the war dog would kill her.

She leapt from the blasted out viewer, hoping the deadly machine would follow her, away from the innocent lives in the tower.

It did, shooting at her with a blaster from one of its legs as she jumped and bounced painfully off the surface of passing flyers on the way down. Maggie did her best to keep her footing while also trying to keep her head out of the war dog's line of sight . She flipped over on her back on top of one flyer's windshield to shoot at the killer machine crashing down after her. As it dodged her shots, she rolled off the cracked flyer windshield and kept leaping. She felt sure she'd fractured a rib as her freefall was finally stalled, her body slamming hard into the top of an armored flyer. The war dog blasted a huge hole right next to her head, singing some of her hair off. It only missed for having to leap between flyers after her as it maintained momentum whilst dodging the traffic obscuring its line of sight.

Just as Maggie was rolling over to leap away, dozens of shooter blasts punctured the surface of the flyer, forcing her to curl up into the fetal position to avoid being hit. She was grazed across the shoulder and thigh but remained otherwise unscathed as the integrity of the roof gave way. Maggie crashed bodily into the flyer, the war dog still leaping from surface to surface above in pursuit.

She landed on her back, surrounded by hybrid rebels.

"Well, lookie, lookie, it's a piece o'Command shit," someone crooned hatefully.

"Blast the bitch," came another vicious snarl.

Before the rebel closest to her could aim his shooter, she kicked him in the face. The war dog came crashing in after her, landing with a heavy mechanical boom, already taking aim at every armed, living thing surrounding it. Maggie reacted on impulse, using the distraction to shoot the rebel she'd kicked, grabbing his shield. Though she was the target, everyone in the flyer became collateral damage as the compact killing machine delivered its projectiles. Maggie used both the shield and the body of a rebel to avoid being hit. Body parts exploded all around her, covering the walls of the flyer in blood and sinew. The flyer's control panel, along with its pilot's head, disintegrated. The flyer took a sharp nose dive.

The war dog kept trying to a clean shot at Maggie, who was still using the bodies of rebels and a mangled shield to protect herself as she scrambled toward something resembling safety. One wrong move and she almost lost her hand. She looked up, seeing that the war dog had attached itself to the wall for a clear shot and was taking aim to blast a hole through her head.

In what could only be described as a miracle, the flyer went careening into a heavy-duty waste flyer nearby that it was no match for. The impact ripped part of the hull off, and the war dog with it. It went sailing away into the smoggy air, its shooter blast veering astray, blowing another giant hole through the hull behind her.

The proximity alarm rang out shrilly as the flyer plummeted toward Sky Bridge Three, a couple of levels below the Command Tower II courtyard. Maggie braced herself, hanging on for dear life surrounded by dead rebels. The flyer hit and skidded through bridge traffic to a groaning stop.

Scrambling out of the wreckage, Maggie ignored the pain of her injuries and limped quickly to the edge of the bridge. She gazed upward, taking in the chaos above. There were more war dogs, and a large-scale assault was being waged on the tower. She could see first responders already engaged in a firefight that had broken out while she was falling.

She needed to get back up there. Baker had been right. This was it. This was the first strike.

Maggie turned to see a motorcycle flyer coming her way. She braced herself, grabbing the rider by his jacket, hauling him off onto the bridge, and taking his place. She gunned it, upward toward the battle.

* * *

…

 _ **T-DP/Level 2..**_

 _ **Fifteen minutes after first strike...**_

…

"Mother Mary's sweet, hairless pussy…" Abe muttered to himself as they came upon the scene.

The skyscraper was crawling with war dogs and rebels. Command officers were trapped in defensive positions, locked out of their own tower. The deadly war dogs made it impossible to get through. Instead of an insane COMPANION it was a fleet of hybrid rebels from all over the Safe Zone, hellbent on chaos and slaughter.

" _Casualties are piling up, guys. Every entry level of the tower is compromised. Life support is gone and MAY is offline. You want me to try to reach Captain Greene or the Command Bunker?"_

JACK announced, concern ringing in his disembodied voice.

"Just tell her we're comin' in. We got eyes on her." Michonne heard Rick's fuzzy answer.

She turned her sights from the breath of the scene to focus on the life forms battling it out below. She spotted and isolated Maggie. Her life force felt so familiar...and yet as new to Michonne as everything else. She was huddled behind one of the downed rebel flyers, taking cover with some of her crew while they held off a group of them.

"Everyone, let's box these motherfuckers in. Tyreese, you get your men in position to take back the tower from the top. Shane, Andrea, you're my sharp shooters on the west side;

"Starbuck and Bishop, you take the east. Rosita, Sasha, hold your position until I give the go ahead. Me and the cheif'll take the courtyard. Abe, you stay up and get ready to lay down a firestorm, got it?"

"Copy that, boss." Abe followed suit with everyone in the air, forming a defensive perimeter at strategic positions around the looming tower. "Who's goin' to ground first?"

Before Rick or the chief could answer, Michonne volunteered. " _I_ will."

Inside his flyer, Rick shot a look of warning toward Dallas. She actually seemed like she was going to allow it. He wasn't having it. Rick punched at his holoscreen, linking it directly with Abe's.

Michonne was already out of her seat. He barked at her while maneuvering his flyer around below, nearest to the courtyard. "Hey! You cover us from your position, _that's an order_."

"Abe can handle it," Michonne shot back, already opening the flyer door, a great gust of wind blowing her locs back from her face.

"Snow!" At the sound of Rick finally saying her name, she turned from the chaotic scene flashing down below. His angry face came into sharp focus against the tower backdrop on Abe's holoscreen. He tilted his head forbiddingly, trying to pay attention to her and his flying simultaneously. " _Stay._ You hear me?"

She gazed at his hologram, wanting to say something; not really knowing what would put him at ease; make him trust her. Instead, she took a deep breath, turned, and leapt from the flyer.

Rick froze, glaring after her. JACK had to briefly take over piloting to avoid being hit by a war dog that leapt at them from the side of the tower. Abe locked onto it and obliterated the fucker, sending fiery pieces zooming downward.

"I think she's got it, boss…" Abe growled around his cigar as he reloaded the shooters on either side of his flyer and got to work.

Michonne dove straight down past Rick's flyer, landing smoothly in a graceful crouch in the center of the courtyard. As she dove, she activated her sword, crashing it into the concrete. The impact sent a sonic _BOOM_ into the ground that tossed rebels off their feet and sent war dogs scattering to the mirrored viewers of the tower to avoid losing equilibrium. Her shimmering blue laser blade emerged smoothly from the katana's leatherbound handle.

" _THEY SENT THE REP!"_ Someone bellowed.

Michonne smiled. How she'd _missed_ this.

Time slowed. Every second was a lifetime.

She took another deep breath and began.

A rebel came rushing toward her, raising twin blades he'd ejected from somewhere beneath the skin of his arms. Before he could get close enough to strike she caught him by the throat and crushed his larynx, then used his body as a shield to fend off projectiles from war dogs. One caught him in the shoulder, ripping his arm to shreds. She tossed him aside like a rag doll and proceeded to fend off shots from all sides with her own blade.

" _RUSH HER! Fuck her up!"_

Michonne counted several dozen more rebels storming toward her in fury. Each of them altered in wildly varying ways. Altered skin colors. Hard-wired eyes or metal-plated faces, legs or arms. Parts human, parts machine. They were upon her in seconds.

"The REP" simply marked each one of them with her target sighting. Once they were locked in, she threw the first strike: Bending over backwards, she sliced one of the advancing rebels' legs off as he barreled down on her from behind. Swinging upright again, Michonne blocked every attempted blow that came after with either sword or hand-to-hand combat. The power behind each strike rendered them extremely damaging, if not fatal. A kick to the face sent one flying into several others, knocking them over like bowling pins. She shattered the eye socket of another one close behind her with her elbow. The next one had his femur fractured nearly clean in two with one smooth downward motion from her boot.

Her blades were likewise unstoppable, chopping off feet and arms, slitting throats, plunging into chests. She used them both more rapidly than the human eye could discern. The steel remained bloodsoaked and glinting in the sun while the laser left singed skin smoking.

She stole a shooter and blasted holes through flesh, using their anger against them to buy the others time. When there was nothing left but herself and a courtyard full of dead or dying rebels, Michonne flipped backward to avoid more war dog projectiles. She used her sword for another sonic _BOOM_ , throwing several of the vile things off the walls and viewers, then took off toward the blocked tower entrance.

There was a line of them, preparing to execute her firing squad style. She flipped out of the way just in time, using war dog firepower to take them and the blockade out. Instead of shooting her, they shot each other. The blockade exploded. Rubble went everywhere. The REPLICANT remained unscathed.

"Level two entrance is clear, copy?" Captain Snow informed her fellow peacekeepers coolly as she sliced a leaping war dog in half. Cautiously, she moved on into the lingering dust clouds from the dilapidated concrete.

She was scanning for the leader, the one she'd felt earlier. Got her. Upstairs, several levels. Desperately searching for something…

Michonne was going to attempt sending herself into netspace when a sudden explosion behind her distracted her from her search. She came out of hiding to see what was happening. Rick, Maggie, and Dallas were moving in behind her, shooters raised. Rick had taken out a war dog that had been hiding in the ceiling. She could tell from the thrum of his life force emanating out to her that he was working very hard to quell his anger with her for disobeying him. Silently, he nodded for her to keep moving, his shining blues sharp and deadly.

* * *

Maggie crouched behind a fallen enemy flyer, watching the scene in stunned awe as the REPLICANT who looked uncannily like her old friend Michonne felled dozens of rebels and war dogs seemingly without much effort.

As the REP fought, she saw Tyreese's team and several others moving in on all sides to cover her. Jax and Buck zipped down on cables from his flyer, trying to get onto the roof or into one of the floors where rebels had crashed into the viewers. Abe, Andrea and Bishop lay down cover fire from their flyers at Rick's assigned positions. They were all witnesses to the carnage one lone fighter - their resurrected Captain Snow - created with nothing but a souped up katana and sheer, powerful will.

Rick and Chief Watson made it to Maggie's position just in time for Rick to blast a hole through a war dog that was leaping at her while she was rubbernecking. The thing dropped to the ground on its back, machine legs kicking around as it tried to right itself like a stuck bug.

Rick walked up to it, placed a boot on its stomach, and blasted another hole through it's innards. It stopped moving and he kicked it aside, crouching again next to Maggie. "You alright?"

She nodded and they turned in their crouching positions to once again observe REPLICANT Michonne's effortless fighting. Dozens of rebels had rushed her, but she was taking them down like they were nothing.

"About time y'all got here. Are you seeing this? She's unstoppable!" Maggie muttered, wincing with pain from her various injuries.

"I'm seein' it," Rick grunted. He was shaking with adrenaline. His eyes were wide and hard. As though what he was _actually_ seeing wasn't the present. Rather, visions of the past. "I told her to say put…"

" _Rick, two armed rebels at two o'clock!"_

JACK warned.

Rick turned and shot down two rebels leaping for them on their right. They fell with heavy thuds, shuddering and bleeding. "Arrest them, JACK."

Digital chains came down from Rick's hovering flyer, binding the rebels securely with shock waves that would keep them stuck there in mild pain until Rick released them. If they tried to break free, they'd be shocked to within an inch of their lives.

"We need to get inside the tower," Watson muttered as she inched closer to get a better look, her brown eyes searching for a way past the mele. "There's a blockade. There." She gestured with her chin. "We get past that, we got a chance."

"If we get MAY back online she can block off the rest of 'em," Maggie agreed. "We split up; take out as many as we can. She can take care of the rest."

"JACK, you copy?" Rick growled, sweating through his brown t-shirt.

" _Copy that, Cap. I count fifteen rebels and hostages inside but am unable to breach the systems lockdown."_

Michonne seemed to be two steps ahead of them. She was rushing the blockade, war dogs on her tail.

Rick felt his heart try to jump out of his throat as he watched, the ugly past flickering through his mind like the holoscreen footage he watched late at night. Michonne flipped out of the way just as the battalion of death machines lay a siege of fire toward her. The blockade (and the rebels guarding it) went up in a cloud of disintegrated concrete and mortar. _What the fuck is she_ _ **doing**_ _?_ his mind yelled at him. His fear and anxiousness were threatening to overpower him; his memories blurring with his present.

But he had no time to dwell.

"Ay, the top's a no go! War dogs are already swarming that motherfucker! We're on level one, but we're blocked off by these rebel _putas!_ " Jax bellowed over the comms system, stuck with Buck behind a pile of rubble deep inside a smoking Level One.

Buck added: "Y'all got a plan, or is this REP gonna keep makin' us look like assholes?"

"Hold your position! Stay low and wait for us. We're comin' in," Rick answered testily.

"Level two entrance is clear, copy?" Michonne's calm, smooth voice interrupted.

Rick, Maggie, and Dallas exchanged looks of resignation and began stalking in a crouched huddle toward the entrance behind her. They made it across the courtyard, slipping through rubble and past the dead bodies of the rebels Michonne had taken out single-handedly. Rick and Watson took down and restrained stray rebels as they went. They climbed over the destroyed blockade until they were finally close enough to Michonne to see her in the clouds of dust. Rick spotted the laser sighting of a lone war dog above their heads. He took it down just as it was about to take them all out with projectiles.

Michonne turned and spotted them; but her eyes landed solely on Rick.

He said nothing as he moved in next to her. Watson and Greene spread out, flanking them as they moved further into the tower. "Rosita, Sasha? Get ready. You move in when I say…" Rick whispered.

"Loud and clear, Cap," Sasha answered solemnly from outside.

Communicating silently, the four peacekeepers moved through the debris as quickly as they could until they reached the entrance to the mainframe room.

"I'll take it from here," Maggie whispered, taking a few seconds to regard Michonne with an unreadable expression. Michonne stood rigidly, surmising that the sight of her was probably jarring. She ignored Maggie's coldness - now wasn't the time to try to convince her old friend that she was real. They had to take out the rebels making their way through the skyscraper and save the ones on their side left alive in here. She could feel all of them; rebel and Command personnel alike, moving around above.

"I'll stay with you. You'll need backup." Dallas insisted. "Grimes, Snow, you send any hostages you can find down here and box those rebels in. We'll tell you where. Once MAY's back on line, we'll lock the place down and try to drive them to the roof. Sound good?"

Michonne looked to Rick. He said nothing, his muscles straining through his shirt, his thick beard and curls damp from perspiration. He was avoiding her gaze, looking cagey and unsure about being alone with her. "Understood," she answered for him, drawing his crystal blues to her finally.

"I told you to stay with Abraham," Rick finally mustered the strength to address her directly, tilting his head at her authoritatively. "That was a direct order."

Michonne sighed. "I had to clear the way. We wouldn't have gotten through if I hadn't-"

"We're inside now and that's thanks to you, I get it. But I need to know...can you follow orders until we get this done?" He cut her off, stepping close to her, his body practically vibrating with dominant adrenaline. "You follow _my_ lead. No more goin' rogue. Do you have a problem with that?"

He enunciated each word in his gravelly drawl, pinning her to the spot with his luminous eyes. Maggie and Dallas stood by, watching out for threats, impatience obvious in their demeanors.

Michonne finally relented, relaxing her posture. "No, Rick. I don't have a problem."

"Good." He regarded her testily for a beat, but he finally accepted her word for it. He nodded to Dallas and Maggie that they were ready. "Let's go."

* * *

…

 _ **Hybrid City Underbelly/D-Level..**_

 _ **Zeke's Grill…**_

 _ **1.5 hours until T-District attack..**_

…

"Hold still. This shit is all in the details…" Lafayette squinted as he adjusted the extremely intricate holographic illusion he was creating as a disguise for Carl.

Carl stood as still as he could while everyone in the dimly lit underground hideout watched LaLa work his magic. Lafayette twisted the controls on his manipulator, changing the hologram projected from the transmitter behind Carl's ear around his body. "There, there, _there!_ That one, the eye one!" Jerry shouted excitedly, and Judith nodded vigorously with her approval. "Daaaamn, you look awesome, dude!"

Lafayette finalized the illusion and tilted his head to admire his work. Carl stood there, waiting, until the fry cook snapped his fingers with satisfaction. "Done. Not even your daddy will recognize you, sweetness."

"Thanks, I really appreciate this, La." Carl sighed heavily, looking down at himself and twisting around to examine the disguise.

"You just keep your head down, get what you need, and get out, you hear?"

Carl nodded gravely. "I just need to see it, and then I'll take this straight to my Dad, I promise."

Lafayette handed him his shooter back, raising an eyebrow at him suspiciously. "Uh huh. You risking your life to catch some rebels stealing walker tech, you sure that's all this is about?"

"It's not just rebels, La...it's war. He doesn't care. But _someone_ has to." Every bit Rick's son, this kid was, even with only one eye visible now because of the disguise Lafayette had constructed for him.

The older man sighed hard, clapping the young survivor on the shoulder. " _Do not_ get your skinny ass killed, you understand?"

"Copy that."

Carl took stock of his friends. Noah, Enid and Ron were all in disguise along with him. Their disguises were made of scavenged hybrid parts and the holographic artistry of one of Zeke's best fry cooks. Judith and Sam, being the youngest, would stay here on point.

Carl paused to admire Enid's disguise. She now had deep pink skin and short purplish hair. Her flesh appeared to be fused with alloy inside both arms and legs. He guessed she was supposed to be a hybrid of enhanced strength with a hidden weapon inside one of her limbs. Noah had long locs. Half of his face, his neck, and one arm appeared to be made of some sort of duranium, painted with ritualistic symbols. He was grinning like a nerd about it, totally giving himself away. Ron was wearing all black with the infrared eyes and skeletal, metal hands and face (inside the shadow of his hoodie) of a cyborg. Carl, the least flamboyant of them all, had been aged twenty years and given an eye patch that doubled as a hidden shooter.

Ezekiel called them to attention, opening a holoscreen and manipulating it so that it became a 3D image of the underground. Everyone gathered around, watching him pinpoint a location that was alive with a thrumming gold signal.

"There." He said solemnly, raising his eyes to meet Carl's visible one. "Unusual readings from this location all morning. They weren't there yesterday - me and PETUNIA scan this district every night for suspicious activity. Don't we PETUNIA?"

His COMPANION, PETUNIA's dry, genteel voice sounded out around them in confirmation:

" _Yes, we do. Somewhat obsessively."_

Jerry snickered and Zeke huffed. "Anyway, we got a hit early this morning. 'TUNIA..?"

PETUNIA continued reporting what she'd been able to glean from all her scans of the area.

" _There is unregistered walker tech in these tunnels. I've detected fifty dormant signatures emitting autonomous low-level energy pulses. Along with, coming and going in the last nine hours, eighty-nine living beings, mostly hybrid, some human."_

Carl gave his friends serious looks. "Then that's where we need to be."

"I'd caution you to reconsider getting too close, son." Ezekiel warned, resting his hands atop the console projecting the holographic map. "Hybrids in this region are not to be trifled with. We're a mere riot away from becoming the new Gates of Hell…"

"Mm-hm...these mothafuckas are vicious," Lafayette agreed, "Had to give a few beat downs myself and I ain't no peacekeeper. I do _not_ get paid for that shit. No offense, booboo, but your pops been asleep on the job these last few years."

"I know," Carl agreed with maturity beyond his years. "That's why I have to do this. _Something's_ gotta wake him up."

"We're just gonna watch them, right?" Noah looked from Carl to LaLa to Zeke. " _Right_ , Carl?"

"Yeah. But we need to get close enough to get something good; real proof."

"How about this?" Everyone turned to watch Judith sticking her hand in her satchel bag. Sam made a disgusted face and squirmed away when she pulled out the slimy melon slug she'd been observing earlier.

"Eww, come onnn!" Enid complained, her reaction ill fitting of her new look. "How that gross ass bug supposed to help us?"

"First of all," Judith deadpanned, unfazed at everyone frowning at her and the slug with mild disgust, "his _name's_ Sebastian. And _he's gonna help us_ because I'm gonna reprogram him to be a lookout. Watch and learn, losers."

"Hmm...the little one may be onto something," Ezekiel rubbed at his chin fuzz as he watched Judith work quickly, his brown eyes alight with fascinated amusement.

"Dude," Ron turned impatient eyes to Carl, "a REPLICANT _slug's_ gonna be our lookout? Is she serious?"

Carl shrugged, smiling proudly at his little sister. "Like she said, watch and learn…"

* * *

 _Written to the musical score of…_

' _Forever Dilating Eye', by Senoia Caves_

* * *

"Ah..!" Michonne had skewered a rebel lookout to a wall with her sword, forcing him to drop his weapon. He spit at her, struggling around her katana blade, his eyes blazing with hatred mingled with immense pain. "Uggghhhaah! You fuckin...REP...bitch!"

"I were you, I'd hold still," Rick stepped out of a haze of smoke, his eyes shining with the kind of calm, focused wildness that told anyone they turned on that he was cable of anything. He raised his Colt and aimed right between the hybrid's eyes. "She pulls that blade outta you, you bleed to death right here," he growled. "Or I can put a bullet in you; end you quick. Either way, you're _done_."

The rebel only panted in response, his pallor bordering septic as his body began to succumb to his compromised position. His head fell back against the wall as Michonne held him upright, ready to slice him clean in two if he tried anything.

Rick tilted his head, pressing the barrel of the gun to the rebel's sweaty flesh. "It's confession time. What'd you come here for? I know it wasn't _just_ to murder a buncha innocent people."

"Innocent? Fuck you. War…is coming," he gurgled, blood beginning to flood his mouth, his head now lolling down toward his chest. "Negan...is coming..."

He died. Michonne pulled her blade out of him and he fell to the ground in a limp heap. Rick stepped forward and knifed his skull to make sure he wouldn't turn.

The two peacekeepers exchanged looks. So, as they'd both been silently suspecting, this was much more than a mere rebel uprising. Negan was behind this. The looming question remained: What was he after here at the Command tower? It wasn't as simple as causing chaos to dance among the ruins.

There was an end game here that none of them wanted to see come to fruition.

They moved on, Rick doing his best to ignore every tense emotion plummeting through him with Michonne at his side again after six long years of grieving her. It seemed this version of her not only behaved exactly like the love he'd lost; she was so perfect a REPLICANT that their silent communication was just as strong as it always had been. As if she'd never left him. This was a surreal and nearly overwhelming experience; one he hadn't expected to be thrust into when VAL woke him this morning. He didn't feel as though he could express any of this freely - not now. Not here, with her.

 _She's_ _ **not**_ _Michonne_...he forced himself to remember. _She just looks like her, and smells like her, walks like her, talks like her, behaves_ _ **exactly**_ _like her...and fights like ten of her combined..._

For her part, Snow could feel his tension and confusion acutely. There were no words to say. They had a job to do, anyway.

They made it up to the next level without incident. Michonne stopped, searching...six of them were lingering in the next room. Rick paused just behind her, watching, waiting. "Six. Just inside. Armed. They don't know we're here yet," she whispered.

He gestured for them to stay low and vigilant. They entered the room. Debris was everywhere.

They slipped inside as quick and quiet as shadows. But their war dogs must've noticed. Suddenly they were in the middle of a swarm of shooter fire. They ended up on opposite sides of the space, staring at each other across the lightning-fast rounds of HV bullets flying toward them as they crouched behind flimsy cover. Michonne appealed to Rick with her eyes, getting her blade at the ready. The rebels were taking cover positions, scattering like mice. Two war dogs were making their way toward them. She had to take action or they were both dead.

Finally, Rick nodded his go-ahead, and she leapt into the air. She brought her katana down, slicing off two heads hiding behind desks near where she landed. A war dog pounced and she drove her blade through the machine, falling onto her back, moving her head out of the way just quickly enough to avoid a kill shot by one of the machine's flailing legs. Rick dipped and dove across the room, taking cover where he could, as Michonne got the thing off her and continued taking out the other one before it could blast projectiles that would've ended them both. The rebels not killed properly began to come to life as walkers. Rick pulled out his machete and took care of those quickly.

As they made it past the onslaught, the lights and systems flickered back to life around them. MAY was back online. "Drive them to the roof, copy?" Watson's voice called into their earpieces. "We'll arrange for evac on the roof."

"One of them is searching the mainframe," Maggie informed them, "They're decoding classified files. I can't stop it from here and neither can MAY - they're using black market tech. Hurry up!"

"We're on it," Rick answered as they kept moving, on watch for any more war dogs or rebels barring their path upward. "Sasha, Rosita, move in _now_. Buck, Jax, you still there?"

"We're here! We got eight Command officers with us, copy?" Buck grunted, breathing hard over the channel. "Gonna try to make a run to the roof for pickup!"

"Copy, we're right behind yout," Rick answered.

Below them, Sasha, Rosita and what few were left of Maggie's men began steadily making their way upward.

Michonne stopped again, reaching out with her mind. The leader was inside one of these rooms. Rick picked up on her hesitation, watching her with fascination. "What is it?"

"Here…" she gestured to a door to their left. "I can get to the leader. She's inside searching through the archives, like Maggie said."

They were both thinking it - they would need to split up. A great deal of trust would need to be established in mere seconds. Michonne felt she'd shown, ten fold, that she could be trusted. It was up to both of them to get this done; he knew that. This was no longer about his hurt and confusion from this morning's atom bomb.

Just as acutely as he realized this, he also realized that the new normal was staring him right in the face.

Rick breathed hard, thinking. He made a decision. "Alright. Go in, take her alive. I'll keep goin'."

Michonne nodded and they split up.

She watched him go, wanting to protect him. Knowing he could take care of himself. Hoping that working together would make him see that she wasn't just a REPLICANT. She wanted to be real for _him_.

He stalked off and disappeared around a corridor that would take him to where Buck and Jax were trapped with the Command personnel they needed to get out alive. Michonne moved toward her target.

* * *

…

 _ **[Transmitting: Sebastian 1 Audio/Video Feed]**_

 _ **Hybrid City Underbelly/D-Level...**_

 _ **Rebel Resistance Hideout..**_

 _ **42 minutes before T-District attack...**_

…

Carl saw what Judith's slug spy saw through his eyepatch. Lafayette had connected a video feed. Judith had done just what she boasted - turned the slimy thing into a silent, unnoticeable spy for them.

This was a hollowed out cavern deep underground, formerly a planned series of waste tunnels that ran beneath what this city used to be a long time ago. It was a junction where they would've coordinated passenger trains all those years ago; abandoned and out of service for some eighty years now. At one time, it might have been crawling with walkers. These days it played host to an ongoing series of hybrid rebel meetings that not even the peacekeepers had caught wind of. Carl had been right; this war had been brewing for quite some time.

Carl, Enid, Noah and Ron hung back deep inside the tunnels while the slug made its way into the meeting space, unbeknownst to the eighty-some-odd rebels filling the place. Their spy got a decent visual of the room with Judith controlling it from Zeke's basement.

"Can you guys hear okay?" Her young, confident voice sounded into the static of the transmitters in their ears.

"Yeah. I see lots of feet," Carl answered in a tense whisper as the foursome stayed low among a cluster of tunnel piping, "Can you get that thing any higher?"

They waited, and Carl watched through his eye patch as the slug made its way up the back of some piping, behind a group of particularly mean-looking rebels. Eventually, he could see most of the room. There was a compact cargo flyer parked inside. In front of it stood who Carl immediately recognized as Daryl Dixon's very deadly brother, Merle. He was flanked on all sides by criminals. Carl and Judith had both watched some of these guys participate as gladiators on _The Grid_. This only served to further prove Carl's theory - them being here, across the border, under his father's nose, was not a good sign.

"What is it?" Enid demanded impatiently. "What do you see?"

"That guy Merle's here. Dixon's brother."

"That blue ass hybrid that got banned for killin' all those people?" Noah balked behind him.

Carl merely nodded slowly, concentrating the slug's grainy video feed, "Yeah. He's here with some other guys from The Grid. Dangerous guys."

"Dude, anybody from the Gates of Hell is dangerous," Ron barked under his breath. "What the hell are they doing over here?"

"They're having some sort of meeting. Just wait," was all Carl muttered in response. Judith was a little genius, but the REPLICANT bug could only process so much; it was doing this outside of its primary (and extremely simple) function and it likely wouldn't survive long like this.

"Shit," Noah blanched, crouched behind Enid. "We're gonna die, man. That's it, end of story. He sends that killer arrow over here and - !"

" _Shh!_ " Ron hushed him, straining to catch any sounds of approaching rebels, his fear of getting caught still foremost in his mind.

The blue assassin began to address the crowd that had gathered in the humid, dimly-lit space. The echoes of his voice reached them where they were hiding.

Merles sucked his teeth, fingering his belt as he gazed across the crowded room, pleased with himself.

"Now I know y'all been waitin' fer this a while…" a few rumblings of agreement, "and rest assured, Negan is mighty pleased you been so patient. Well? Here we are. The day's finally come."

There was loud, raucous cheering and stomping from the crowd.

"Them rich bitches sittin' pretty on top o'this city been stealin' food outta yer mouths…!"

More cheering.

"They been tryin' to shut ya down, keep ya down, _break_ ya down…!"

The cheering turned sinister, aggressive. Merle smiled his jagged smile, raising his arms in solidarity.

"They been denyin' you your God-given right to fuckin' exist on yer own goddamn terms in this shithole town! They say ya ain't human enough! Ain't worthy enough! And _then_ whatta they do?" He whistled sharply, his deadly arrow appearing by his shoulder, electric, hot, and ready. "They go and make themselves a super soldier 'cause their broke down, pussy ass peacekeepers CAN'T KEEP YA SILENT!"

The cheering was more intense and threatening than ever, now.

"WELL _**FUCK**_ THEM, AND _**FUCK**_ THAT REPLICANT BITCH! TODAY, WE HYBRIDS DECLARE OUR GODDAMNED _**INDEPENDENCE!**_ " The reaction from the crowd gave Carl chills. His friends remained silent and frozen with apprehension behind him. "TODAY WE'RE GONNA SHOW 'EM EXACTLY WHO. THEY'RE. FUCKIN WITH!"

He let the rowdy crowd raise hell for a minute before raising his hands for peace and quiet again. "Jadis, baby, come on up."

A tall, severe hybrid woman stepped up onto the metal dais and stood next to him, head and shoulders above him. Her eyes were like cold black glass on the grainy footage Carl watched as she surveyed the room. When she spoke, her voice sounded as though her vocal chords had been replaced by a lifeless machine's; cold, stilted and cutting.

"We make an example," she said quietly. The room hung on her every breath. Her posture was almost regal, yet relaxed, extremely confident. "We kill to protect. To save this, _ours_. Find where president hides. Expose all her secrets. Kill her, too. Fight this war, make them pay. Make them suffer as we suffer. Make them _know_...walkers? _Nothing_ before _**us**_. Then? _**Freedom.**_ "

She raised a gloved fist in the air, her glass eyes scanning the room imperially as one by one, hybrid fists rose in answer.

" _ **FREEDOM!"**_ Everyone echoed.

Carl felt the world closing in on him. He had to follow them. He had to stop them. He had to warn his dad and Michonne.

War was coming. Negan was coming. For them all.

* * *

 **A/N: I know what you're waiting for. It's next. Answers are coming. The plot is going to move faster now, especially where Richonne and this Monroe/Negan situation are concerned. Including: Carl and Michonne coming face to face in a life or death scenario, the meeting at Rovia's, Rick's change of heart - what Negan wants from Lenny and Macie, plus Maggie goes to find Dixon** **and discovers a whole lot more than she expects.**

 **Thank you for your patience! More to come!**

 **-K**


	17. the cold room

_Written to the musical score of…_

' _Ghost Town', Symmetry_

* * *

…

 _ **The Wilds..**_

 _ **Former District of Columbia…**_

 _ **7 hours until attack..**_

…

A constant storm of heavy wind was all that moved in the wilds anymore.

What once roamed desolate, forgotten cities like this one had long since died out. Even the walkers that used to stumble across these lands in rotting, meandering packs had withered and stilled, becoming part of the dust that filled the constant wind. Deep in the crumbling city, high above the tombs of monuments and barren museums, the orange lights of three unmarked flyers pierced the thick clouds. They landed inaudibly, cloaked by the swirling wind. Unseen life where there had been none present for years.

A small group of Negan's men emerged from the flyers with a prisoner in tow. A hoverboard slowly, silently followed them. It carried some very valuable, very deadly cargo.

Among the troupe of despicable men were Negan's right hand Simon and the hybrid assassin, Merle. The prisoner was thrown out into the center of the half circle they'd formed around him. Hooded and bound with his hands behind his back, he slumped with exhaustion and pain as Simon walked slowly toward him. Blood dripped from the soaked black cloth covering the prisoner's head. Simon came to a stop a few steps from the weakened, bleeding man, tilting his head down at him with chilly curiosity. He spit near the prisoner's knee, clicking his tongue.

"I just don't get it," Simon began, squatting down to stare eye level at the black hood. "I think it was goddamned chivalrous of your big bro, lettin' your sorry ass off with a warning," he laughed, pivoting in his squatting position to wink at Merle, who stood behind him with steel in his spine and detachment in his eyes, "And you just had to fuck it up, didn't ya?"

Simon reached out and snatched the black hood from Daryl's bent head, tossing it aside in the dust. He watched the younger Dixon sway in the wind, dizzy from blood loss.

"I was gonna wait to kill you until after we burn your city to ashes, but I'm just too curious about what this puppy can do. Hear that, Merle? It's time to get your test run!"

Behind Simon, silhouetted against the orange wind, a twitch of a grimace disturbed Merle's pinched features.

"Don't we need 'im in case those fuckers try to get wise 'fore tomorrow?" he suggested.

Simon continued staring at Daryl, enjoying seeing him broken this way. Also enjoying hearing Merle half-heartedly offer a plea to keep the worthless son of a bitch alive a little longer.

"Nah…" he unleashed a wide, Jekyll-like grin, "the best part about havin' a hookup in the black market, Merle, ol' buddy, ol' pal? We get all the illegal walker tech we want."

Negan's right hand reached into his leather jacket and pulled out a small box, and from that box he removed a transmitter. Pain lit up Daryl's every muscle as he watched through swollen eyes. Simon placed the transmitter behind his ear and activated it.

Daryl was suddenly staring at and listening to _himself_ speak.

"Besides, peacekeepers are dumb as shit, huh Dixon?" his own raspy voice sounded out to him over the wind, his own face grinning back at him in place of Simon's. " _Ooh wee_ , I _love_ this redneck shit, Merle! I think I'm gonna keep this disguise in heavy rotation from now on, brother!"

Merle said nothing, gazing at his _real_ little brother with fierce disappointment. Daryl slumped over and heaved up bile in the dust. Simon deactivated the hologram, laughing his evil ass off.

"Welp. Say bye-bye to Mr. Dixon, y'all."

Simon stood and moved aside for the hoverboard carrying a tightly sealed case. The hoverboard halted a few feet from them and lowered to the earth. Daryl could only sit there and bleed, squinting through two black eyes and a wall of damp hair as Simon kicked the sleek case. It came to life with a series of sharp mechanical clicks, the red glare of indicator lights, and the unfolding of its body until it stood on all four legs.

A war dog.

The pentagon-shaped machine the size of a pitbull had no "face - but every inch of it could see a way to track him, from infrared to sonic pulse.

The sight of it, online and standing ready, sent a chill down Daryl's spine so powerful he shivered visibly on his knees. He remained silent, staring at his fate.

Simon gave a sharp whistle, causing Merle to roll his eyes hard. A panel opened on the war dog's body and something tiny, fast, and sharp came shooting out of it, into the flesh of Daryl's sweaty arm.

Daryl grunted as a small trickle of blood oozed from the miniscule wound.

"That's a tracker, boy," Simon spoke again, staring at him emotionlessly, "you oughta know what that means. You're a hunter-gatherer type. Means wherever you go, Spot will find ya. And he _will_ kill ya. _Woof!_ "

Merle watched, knowing with certainty that this was the last time he would see his little brother alive.

Maybe he could find Daryl's body when this was all over, walker or not. Give him a proper burial.

"I'm gonna be nice and give you a head start, alright Junior?" Simon sneered. Someone stepped forward from behind Daryl and cut his restraints. "So run along, now. Get up - _RUN!_ "

Daryl, stunned and panicked, stumbled to his feet, wincing with pain. He hesitated only a second to glare at his big brother before turning on his heel and taking off. The wind and the pain of his injuries made him feel like his legs were filled with lead. The dust stung his swollen eyes, his hair slapped him in the face, and he was sure he was gonna die. But he ran. As fast as he could.

He ran toward the ruins as Simon's cruel cackling grew fainter behind him. All he could hear after a while of panting and pain was the wind and his labored breathing, his boots dragging heavily in the dust.

Then, just as he was nearing the shell of a great, white stone monument, he heard the ominous mechanical _thunk, thunk, thunk_ of the war dog bearing down on him.

* * *

 _ **[Rebooting…]**_

 _ **[Personal Archive, REPLICANT Snow.001]**_

…

 _ **T-DP/Level 2..**_

 _ **Cold Storage Chamber...**_

 _ **File Code: Classified..**_

…

"MAY, show me the building schematic, Level Two."

A holograph detailing the structure of the skyscraper appeared before Michonne.

"How do I access the room behind this wall?"

" _There is no room behind this wall, Captain,"_ MAY answered.

Michonne frowned, reaching out to manipulate the hologram. She zoomed in, turning it, angling it. She saw the area where she was standing, but there was nothing that indicated a space where the hybrid rebel leader could possibly be hiding. The leader, the woman, the one she'd been feeling determinedly searching for something, was behind this wall, but there was no room here.

That didn't mean there wasn't a way in. She could feel it.

Michonne stood very still.

She concentrated, sending herself into netspace. She willed it, as Dr. Jones taught her, and found herself flying into the deep. She reached out to whatever controlled entry to this hidden space in the Command tower. Finally, she found it. It was a prismatic jumble of cubes, pulsing with violet light. She approached it; spoke to it. The voice that spoke back was deep, warped, chilling.

 _Let me in, please._

 _ **There is no entry.**_

 _I am not MAY. I was sent here by Command._

 _ **I know what you are. There is no entry.**_

 _This is a matter of life and death. There are innocent people - !_

 _ **There is no entry.**_

 _You have been breached by a terrorist. Command has been compromised._

 _ **Decode for entry. REPLICANT.**_

 _ **Decode for entry. REPLICANT.**_

 _ **Decode for entry. REPLICANT.**_

Michonne pulled herself away from it. She awoke again in the mangled, ransacked Command tower, staring at the space where there should be a room. She tried to shake the feeling that the entity she engaged with in netspace was mocking her just now.

 _Decode for entry, huh?_ She thought to herself, reaching out to place her palms against the wall. _Fine. Here goes nothin'..._

Michonne closed her eyes, searching.

Millions of streams of code flowed through her mind like a gust of wind through a tunnel. She searched, trying, failing and moving on within fragments of a second per code, until finally…

The wall came to life, glowing pale violet before fading again and opening with a silent, cold _whoosh…_

It was freezing in here. Clouds of frosty air were being constantly pumped into the room.

Michonne stepped inside. The door _whooshed_ closed again behind her.

There were endless stacks of black, blinking hard drives inside. Filled with secret files, her instincts told her. Classified files. She wondered if there was a file on her in here. But Michonne did not dwell on her immense curiosity. Rick was counting on her. Innocent people; her team, too.

She slowly unsheathed her sword, cautiously moving forward through the dark blue maze. Her only illumination came from the pale, blinking lights all over the stacks of sleek black file drives.

The light bounced off the blade of her sword. In the reflection, she saw a shadow.

Snow pivoted, leaning backward just in time to miss being stabbed through the eye.

Jadis yanked her arm back with lightning speed, lunging again, and again. Aiming to puncture the REPLICANT's cheek, eye, collar bone, breastplate - anything that might damage her enough to award a small window for escape. Michonne blocked each blow with her katana and they kept on.

Jadis was fast and brutal. She wielded twin combat knives and she was expertly skilled with them. Her strikes were heavy, deadly, too rapid for your standard hybrid. She was more advanced than any of them that Michonne had fought getting up here. It was as though her entire body had been altered, making her the strongest and fastest of her kind.

Their blows cut through the bone-chilling air, silent and fatal. Michonne blocked strike after strike; her sword flying to her defense time and again as they fought through and around the towering black pillars.

They slammed each other into the freezing walls, making body-sized craters. An elbow to the throat, a kick to the stomach, block, pivot, sweep, lunge. The hybrid rebel's deadly-sharp daggers pinged and scraped the walls and the edges of the machinery. After quick jabs to the ribs and nose, Michonne disarmed her, but Jadis recovered quickly and kept coming without letting up. Michonne's sword plunged through one of the hard drive stacks, the sparks causing a small fire. Jadis ducked away in an instant.

Michonne had to abandon her sword for the moment as she blocked several more attempts at heavy, destructive strikes from Jadis. Finally, she bested the hybrid, using more strength than Jadis could handle to wrestle her against one of the black pillars.

" _I'll break every bone in your body,"_ she growled as Jadis struggled.

Blood oozing from her lip, Jadis rolled her eyes. She was stuck and she knew it. "Promise, REPLICANT?"

"What are you looking for?"

The REPLICANT let her restraint slip, putting more pressure on her hold. If the rebel was simply human or as weak as the others, Michonne could really crush her bones. But the alterations were practically vibrating all through the woman. Her entire skeleton was reinforced, as were parts of her skull. She was an almost totally fused hybrid; something that should have killed her before such a process could be completed. She was something no one thought was possible.

But then no one had thought Michonne was possible, either. "What _are_ you?"

Jadis surprised Michonne by delivering a blow to the face with the back of her skull and twisting around in her grip to restart the fight. Michonne bested her again, slamming her against the wall, the frigid air making her breath mist in the bitch's face.

"Answer me!"

Jadis laughed mechanically. "You? Me? Same."

Michonne got a chill that had nothing to do with the cold storage room as Jadis looked her up and down with seething hatred.

"You're lying." She gave more of her full strength to her grip; an adamantium skeleton pressing down on the rebel's body fit to crush the real bones beneath the alloy that reinforced her.

Jadis was shaking from the pressure, her eyes watering, the veins in her face and neck straining. But she did not relent; the hatred remained a bright gleam in her glassy black eyes.

"You search, REPLICANT. President? Secrets. For _years_." She indicated with a sweeping gaze around the room at all the looming black pillars. Standing tall like beacons in the mist. Blinking. Beckoning. "You find what I _know_." Jadis growled. "Experiment on me. Hurt me. _Change_ me. Wanted _you_." She was pushing back, trying to overcome Michonne's considerable strength. "War dogs. Smiths. Cyborgs. GATUS. _Me. You._ _**Same**_. You? _**Not a failure.**_ "

Jadis managed to slip a hand down onto Michonne's torso. A bright, painful _blast_ , and the REPLICANT was flying into a cluster of pillars, knocking the large, heavy things over. Their lights stopped blinking as the untempered weight of her damaged them on impact. Michonne looked down to see that she'd been hit, but her adrenaline and superhuman endurance did not allow her to linger on her injury. Jadis slipped away and took off. Michonne got to her feet and pulled her sword out of the drive it had gotten lodged inside.

She ran after Jadis, who blasted a giant hole into one of the concrete walls facing east, opening up a huge, crumbling escape route. Just before she reached the hole, Jadis turned, paused, and activated a transmitter behind her ear.

She disappeared.

Michonne skidded to a stop in disbelief, scanning. All she registered was the room bouncing off a fleeting source of glinting light as her target closed the distance and jumped through the hole, escaping.

Whatever she'd used had rendered Michonne blind to her. Michonne realized that she could have done this any time, but she chose now, after their fight.

She must've wanted Michonne to find her.

The rebel leader's words echoed in her head as she ran to the giant hole, peering through it, leaning over to search the area. She saw nothing but the city, and then Bishop and Starbuck's flyer was zooming toward her, blowing hot hair into her face as it wheeled around to the side so those inside could talk to her through the opening doors.

"SAMURAI! Michonne! We need your help!"

Two teenagers, one black, one white, were flagging her down from behind Starbuck, who looked viciously annoyed. Bishop, piloting the flyer, looked equally bothered behind her old school black aviators.

Michonne recognized them. They were with Carl earlier. Except they had been in disguise, then. He was not with them, now. He was in danger.

 _ **Carl.**_ _Oh no._

* * *

 _BOOM!_

Rick took down a war dog, sprawled on his back, one eye squinting shut.

The thing dropped heavily, mid-leap, shuddering and sparking on the floor next to him. Rick collapsed backward with instant relief, breathing hard, resting for just a fraction of a second. Still alive.

He got up and shot the thing twice more for good measure before moving on with more urgency. All the while keenly aware of the constant thought in the back of his mind... _Michonne_.

 _ **Not Michonne**_ , he berated himself as he swept through the halls, pausing every now and then to search with his shooter aimed. Every hair on his body was fine-tuned to threats. Motherfucking war dogs were almost worse than cyborgs. _She's a REPLICANT...she's not real. But she_ _ **is**_ _real. She's her. She_ _ **isn't.**_ _Keep moving, Grimes. There are people in here that need your help. Your_ _ **team**_ _needs your help._

But she was part of his team. Like it or not, she was there, in this with them.

Rick kept moving. "MAY, locate my men. How many do we need to evacuate?" He drawled in a hushed voice as he paused, crouched low in the nearly dilapidated area of this floor. A flyer had crashed through here. It had almost demolished the room.

" _Two corridors to your left. Eighteen living souls. They're trapped, Captain."_

MAY answered calmly.

" _A crash landing has partially collapsed the ceiling and created an impenetrable barrier. It would take considerable strength or a small charge to dislodge it. Even then, the integrity of the -"_

"...roof could go with it. Yeah. I got it," Rick interrupted her irritably, running a dirty hand over his face and thick beard.

" _That is correct, Captain."_

MAY remained unfazed. She projected a holoscreen schematic, showing his path to get to Buck, Jax, and the others.

"Sasha, Rosita, you copy?" Rick called out as he studied the hologram.

"We're here," Rosita answered, their holograms appearing. She and Rosita were out of breath, stuck against a wall in an unfortunately cramped space."Part of the goddamned level caved in. We can't reach you."

"Yeah, this level's just about done, too," Rick nodded at her, reloading his shooter. "Look, you circle back, take Maggie and the chief with you. Meet me on the roof in five. We got people trapped, I'm gonna try to get 'em out."

Rosita didn't look happy; she always wanted a piece of the action. But she didn't say anything as she kept her eye on the surrounding area, lest they get themselves trapped in here, too.

"Copy that, boss," Sasha answered dutifully, always the more level headed of the two, "five minutes, over."

Their holograms disappeared.

"You got that, Maggie?" He couldn't see her, the only comms in or out of the mainframe room was audio.

"We read you, Rick," Maggie answered. "There's not much we can do from here, but now that MAY's back online, she can help you."

"Good luck," Dallas added.

"Thanks. Get outta here, you've got five minutes."

Taking a deep breath, Rick moved on. He carefully maneuvered around the worst of the wreckage, making sure not to disturb any of the rubble too much for his comfort as he went. Finally, he was on the other side, and he slipped through two corridors to the left. Buck and Jax must've taken out most of the rebels on their way to their current predicament. He was met with little trouble but to put down a couple of walkers on the way.

When he found it, he immediately saw what MAY had been warning him about. The ceiling was about to give way; the only thing holding it up was a chunk of armored flyer, which had crashed into the room. It was blocking any exit, sparks flying ominously, big and heavy and heated like lava burning in the distance.

Rick could use the superhuman strength of a REPLICANT right about now.

"Buck! Jax! You alive?" Rick called over the wreckage.

"WE'RE HERE, BOSS!" Buck bellowed back. There was no way to see them via hologram, either. Their audio wasn't even working anymore. They had to communicate by shouting. "It's hotter than a dragon's cootch in here! We got about ten injured, including Command officers!"

"Alright, I read you, sit tight!" Rick called back, swallowing hard. He let his eyes roam over the scene, trying to formulate a plan. "Just let me think for a minute…"

"Yeah, well don't take too long, okay?" Jax called out. She sounded hurt. Her usual bravado was strained, pained. "We're pretty fucked in here, man."

"This asshole's hit, sir!" Buck shouted. "Oh uhh, and there's one other thing!"

"Buck, shut the fuck up for two seconds, would ya?" Rick cut him off, stepping forward to inch warily closer and examine the mess they were in.

"Yes sir! Shutting the fuck up, sir!"

The senior peacekeeper looked up and around, judging what he could get away with by the look of the damage. The ceiling wasn't completely dependant on the flyer debris to remain intact, he judged.

All he needed was a narrow opening for people to squeeze through. Something narrow enough that it would hold for a very short while and if it came to collapse, they would have plenty of warning.

"MAY…"

" _Yes, Captain?"_

"Show me how far I can force this before the whole thing comes down on us."

MAY opened a holoscreen, diagramming the exact width and angle with which he could pry open a small gap in the wreckage and let the others slip through.

" _You'll have three minutes, fourteen seconds before the integrity of the roof becomes critical, Captain,"_

MAY warned him, but he was optimistic. He could do this. If they worked together, _they_ could do this.

"Alright...okay, here's the plan!" Rick stepped back to bellow in their direction. Chunks of ceiling were already starting to drop like hailstones around him. They had to be quick. "I'm gonna open it just a little! Buck, you grab a strong partner and get ready to help me hold this motherfucker up while the rest get through, got that?"

"Holy shit, Cap..." Buck groaned loudly.

"No choice, here, soldier," Rick was already bracing himself, having picked a spot not too close to the sparking flyer that could burst into flames any second.

"Okay! _You_ , He Man! Over here, let's go!" He heard Buck shouting.

Rick began to push a chunk of wall away from the heated flyer wreckage. Sweat poured down his brow as his lean muscles strained against the weight of the damn roof, sinking infinitesimally closer to collapsing onto this level with every few seconds that passed. Finally, there was some give, and he could see part of the room they were trapped in through the tiny opening.

"Help me, come on," he shouted into the space, and Buck appeared with a strong-armed Command officer. They heaved; the opening inched jaggedly wider and wider until a body could fit through it. "Alright, injured first, _move_ it!"

"Cap…" Buck breathed. He was holding it up with his back, almost wedged through the small opening, blocking Rick's view. Chunks of debris continued to fall from above them. "It's your ex wife. She was on duty today. She's inside with us. She's hurt."

The world closed in on Rick as he thought of Lori, remembering exactly where the fuck he was. "How bad?" he croaked, his blood going ice cold.

"Not too bad, sir," Buck was quick to reassure him while the Command soldier with the big arms struggled to help them keep this makeshift doorway open. "But she can't walk on her own and she's got a concussion, we think."

Rick nodded curtly. "Bring her out first. Hurry up, this thing's gonna go any minute."

He heaved against the opening, trying to hold it up rather than push it any further and risk shifting the rubble too much to stay intact. His mind reeled as he waited for Buck to carry out his orders. He was grateful that Lori wasn't injured fatally, but he was dreading seeing her hurt.

And then she was there, looking pale and dazed and in pain, blood trickling down the side of her face just at the edge of her hairline. "Rick?" she winced, reaching out for him.

"It's okay, Lori. I got you…" Rick caught her with one arm and called all his strength forth to pull her through the opening. He cradled her until he could tuck her away from the flow of others coming through.

One by one, Rick and the others ushered the trapped people out through the tiny opening. By the time Buck and Jax slipped through, the ceiling was dangerously close to falling in on them. "UP TO THE ROOF!"

At Rick's booming command, every able bodied man reached out to help the injured and they hauled ass toward the blessedly free stairwell to the roof.

"Starbuck, Bishop, you copy?" Rick scooped Lori up into his arms and ran her away from what he could hear were the beginnings of the crash site collapsing.

Their holograms appeared before him for the first time as he ran, flickering in and out from the flimsy condition of MAY and the tower. They were in their flyer, up top.

"What's up, Cap? We're almost clear up here! Just need to flush out some - _MOTHERFUCKER!_ \- coward, rat _BASTARDS!_ " Her shooter rounds lit up her face as she retaliated for offensive fire.

"Let the others handle it. Get your ass around the building, east side, scan for any signs of Snow. Find her ASAP, this tower's goin' down!"

"Shit! Copy that, boss," Starbuck answered with unabashed reluctance before the hologram blinked out.

They made it to the roof level, bursting through the door out into the bright sun.

They were immediately met with shooter fire.

The rebels Starbuck mentioned having trouble picking off had come out of hiding to attack them.

Everyone dove for cover.

Rick stumbled to his knees, having to catch Lori. "Ah! Rick!" she cried out, landing awkwardly and heavily on her wounded ankle. It might have been badly sprained before, but now she was sure it was broken. She squealed in pain and fear as explosive shooter fire flew by, causing gusts of muggy wind to swirl around them.

"Lori, stay down!" Rick commanded before pulling out his Python to pick off any rebels in sight. The _BANG, BANG, BANG_ of his shooter's rounds popping off echoed violently in her eardrums. Her hands flew up to her ears as she watched Rick's formidable figure shooting and ducking, his damp curls falling into his eyes.

Abe, Tyreese and Andrea were crisscrossing the tower from high above, shooting from their flyers now that their targets had made themselves seen. A war dog jumped its way to the hood of Shane's flyer, causing the deft pilot to take a risk and dip low enough that Andrea almost fell out of the back seat. She wrenched her arm out just in time, catching a good grip on the shooter rigged to the side of the flyer. The war dog went sliding off the hood before it could get a clean shot of Shane, and Andrea hung on tight until her hubby was able to right their ship again.

"Sorry, baby! Blast that piece o'shit!" Shane barked as he maneuvered the flyer. Andrea swung back into her seat, aimed her shooter and sent a tidal wave of firepower into the flailing war dog. She shredded it in mid-air, its mangled pieces falling down toward the mele below.

With the help of the others, Rick and Buck were able to shoot their way free of the stalemate. Rick holstered his weapon and knelt to pick Lori up as gently, yet quickly, as he could. There were war dogs still around, waiting to pounce or send explosive projectiles at them. Buck and the remaining Command officers got the wounded to Tyreese's flyer, where Maggie and Dallas waited to take them to safety and medical attention.

Lori clung to Rick, tears streaking down her cheeks as he ran with her toward Shane's flyer. Andrea wheeled her gun aside and hung on, leaning out to reach for Lori. "Here, give her to me!"

"Rick, these levels are gonna take the tower down with them," Chief Watson's voice broke through the wind and sounds of shooter fire from the transmitter behind his ear. "There's still no sign of Snow."

Rick handed Lori to 'Drea. She was reluctant to let him go, her nails scratching against his skin as Andrea pulled her into the flyer. He looked her in the eyes, causing her to calm and go still. For a single moment in time, the world was muted and Rick could see that old disappointment in Lori's brown eyes. The disappointment that helped kill their marriage. The choice he was about to make was so evident and familiar to them both that he could feel it shocking his skin like static electricity. He should go with Lori; make sure she got to the hospital and got cared for immediately. The roof could cave from beneath his feet at any moment.

But Michonne was still in there.

His rational mind was no longer in control; this was pure, gut-wrenching instinct.

"I copy..." Rick backed up, letting go of Lori. "Go, I'll follow as soon as I can!"

"What?! Rick, _no_ _\- !_ " Andrea shook her head vigorously at him as he turned and ran.

"Rick! You hear what the fuck the chief said?!" Shane called after him in shock as he watched his best friend head back into the building, contemplating flying over his head to run him down. " _RICK!_ It's gonna _collapse_ , man!"

"Just get them outta here!" Rick called back, disappearing through the doorway again.

As soon as the door shut behind him, the atmosphere became quiet, dark, and ominous. The area was filling with smoke. That wreckage had caught fire, then. He had no time to waste. Rick stalked through the space quickly, on the lookout for any signs of the REPLICANT bearing the love of his life's face. He was finding the air harder to breathe the further he retraced their steps.

The ceiling was groaning loudly, such was the strain it was under. They'd both be be trapped in here if he didn't hurry. He managed to make it back to where he'd left her. There was nothing. No sign of her. He searched around the limited space as the ceiling sank further and further toward him. Michonne said the rebel leader was in this area. _Where…?_ Where were they?

"MAY," he croaked, "locate the REPLICANT."

" _The REPLICANT is not inside the tower, captain. I lost her signal here."_

MAY showed him a holoscan of the area he stood facing. She had been behind this wall...? He leaned against the wall, his palm spread, trying to quell his anxiety. Michonne had left the room unlocked. He stepped back as the wall glowed violet for a moment and _whooshed_ open.

Inside, it was dark and cold. Sparks were going off everywhere. Rick moved into the room, his shooter raised as he searched among rows and rows of pillars made of sleek black hard drives.

"Snow…?" he called softly, following the signs of a fight, his panic rising in his chest toward his throat. He didn't understand this feeling. As a REPLICANT, she was ten times the fighter he was; she could handle herself. After all he'd seen her do since they got here, there was no denying that. But all the same, he couldn't leave her behind. This had been exactly what he was afraid of, the moment he realized what Monroe had done. He was still back there, six years ago, desperately trying to get Michonne to stay in Tyreese's flyer.

Rick refocused. Soon he noticed shafts of natural light cutting through the smoke. He followed the light until he found a giant hole in the wall, crumbling inward. "Bishop, Starbuck, report!"

Their holograms could not get through here. This area had been hidden from even MAY, sealed off. Why? He heard their audio instead.

"The REP took off, sir. It's your son. And two wardogs are after him. We're in pursuit."

Hearing those words hit Rick like a ton of bricks. Now his _son_ was in danger? Today just kept getting better.

"JACK! Bring me my flyer!"

JACK disconnected the prisoners in the courtyard from the flyer and sent it zooming around the building. Rick was waiting on the east side under the weight of a collapsing roof.

As soon as he saw it, it's doors opening automatically for him, he ran and jumped, landing hard with a boot on the passenger seat. He hung on tightly and ducked inside with the intimidating backdrop of the city spread out miles below. With every second he was losing more ground to catch up to the killing machines chasing after his son. JACK closed the doors and zoomed away as soon as he was in.

"I'm right behind you!" Rick climbed into the pilot's seat. He took over piloting from JACK and the flyer jettisoned forward at top speed.

* * *

…

 _ **Hybrid City Underbelly/ D-level...**_

 _ **The Tunnel of Tombs..**_

…

Carl, Enid, Ron and Noah tried to keep their cool, staring straight ahead, following the herd of hybrid rebels through the dark tunnels.

When the meeting adjourned, rebels came flooding out of the main chamber. Without a word, Carl had signaled for everyone to stay calm, blend in, pretend they'd been there the whole time. It worked. Aside from a few curious glances, no one questioned them...yet. They all knew that if they were caught, they'd have to fight their way out. But Carl had been aged twenty years, even his voice was different. And though the others were scared, they all played their parts well. No one recognized them.

Now they were getting further away from safety with every step.

"Say the word, we'll come and blast through every one of them…" Ezekiel muttered, watching the scene through Carl's eye patch. Shadows moved in the dim light; ghouls and goblins surrounding these disguised kids. They all knew there were too many of the rebels to make it out of their midst alive.

Carl shook his head, glancing over to Enid, who kept her chin held up and her brow set into a cold, hard line. Next to her, Noah and Ron marched with expressions made of stone, not giving away how alarmed they were all becoming with each step.

Some slimy yellow rebel was eyeballing Enid from behind Carl. They could feel malevolent intent wafting off the dude's slick skin, crashing into them as they were herded like walkers toward the mouth of a hellish maze of tunnels, where dozens of flyers were hidden.

Finally, they all tumbled out into the hollowed out atrium of an old hospital that stood condemned and forgotten down here by the border. They were quickly split up as separate factions headed for flyers on either side of the space. Though they made eye contact and tried to silently assert themselves into staying together, Ron and Noah were shoved aggressively toward an armored cargo flyer while Enid and Carl ended up in another small group. Enid stuck to Carl like glue when they both realized the bald, bug-eyed, sleazy yellow hybrid had ended up in their group as well.

They ducked into the flyer and followed what everyone else was doing, strapping in for takeoff. The yellow bastard that had been following them made a vulgar tongue gesture at Enid from across the flyer. He nonchalantly pulled a big bowie knife from a sheath near his boot and used it to scratch at his bald head.

Carl eyed him hotly but said nothing. They took off. The flyer dipped and rumbled along as it ascended toward the top.

"You know what's funny?" The yellow bastard said loudly to his seatmate, causing the flyer full of rebels to pay attention. "I ain't seen either of them in any of the other meetings...not a single one."

"You're right," some ugly machine jawed biker agreed huskily, "but that shit ain't funny."

Every pair of eyes turned their way. Enid went stiff as a board but Carl just stared at him. "I'm not really a people person," he said simply. "But I've been paying attention."

"You pay attention, huh?" The yellow hybrid said menacingly. "You been spyin' on us, is that it?"

"Are you a stinkin' Command spy, motherfucker?" the biker chimed in.

Carl scoffed, his one visible eye's razor sharp gaze unwavering. "No."

"Fuck you, I say otherwise."

Carl tilted his head, somewhat emulating his father. "So what are you gonna do about it?"

"You're dead!" The crazy-looking hybrid slashed at his seat belt with the bowie knife, freeing himself and lunging toward Carl across the flyer.

An eruption of encouraging cheers rang out, "Fight, fight, FIGHT!" as Carl got his seat belt undone just in time to block his attacker's advance, grabbing his knife arm and yanking it aside as he grabbed the guy's slimy yellow throat and squeezed with all his might. The bowie knife plunged into the hull.

Carl took a punch to the face and stomach, but gave several more in return, fighting through the pain. Enid got herself undone to offer aide. She was shoved away, but she came back kicking. Their attacker pulled his knife from the hull and Carl had to unsheath his, engaging in his first real knife fight. The flyer full of rebels cheered them on as Carl and Enid defended themselves against both a rapid fire ascent that tossed them around as well as steadily more furious attacks.

A beefy, thick-necked hybrid waited until Carl had blocked an attack on Enid, then held him from behind while Yellow Face slashed at Carl's arm and chest. One of the yellow hybrid's friends kicked two slim black cases, one after the other. Two war dogs came to life, unfolding themselves in a short series of mechanical clicks and flashing red lights. Each war dog opened panels on their sleek machine bodies and tagged Enid and Carl with trackers, one after the other. The disguised kids grunted with the impact of the small wounds, exchanging frantic looks as they realized what this meant. They were about to be hunted, and they could not stop running or they were both dead.

Then the rebels opened up the flyer doors, wind screaming inward at them as city traffic zipped by. Carl was hauled toward the doors and tossed out. Enid followed, being thrown by her hair.

"Get after 'em!"

The dogs tore off, jumping one by one through the doors, locking onto the falling Enid and Carl.

The young spies bounced painfully off the hoods of passing flyers, until one came by that was big enough to stall their freefall. Carl rolled up into a shaky squat, reaching out for Enid. She grabbed his hand and he shouted: "Judith, I need my bike! Like _now!_ "

"On the way, Carl, please hold on!" Judith answered, immediately hacking into VAL, who could take remote control of Carl's bike.

They were thrown flat on their stomachs again by deadly shooter fire from the two war dogs leaping from flyer to flyer and onto the sides of towers after them. Carl heard the growling of his bike engine in the distance, and he grabbed Enid's hand again, rolling them both off of the top of the mack truck flyer they'd landed on. They fell a short ways, narrowly avoiding the advancing war dogs. Carl landed on his bike seat, catching Enid and using all his might to swing her up onto the seat behind him. She clung to his waist as he grabbed his handles, slammed onto the gas, and took off through traffic.

The war dogs came after them, leaping, shooting. He dipped and whirled expertly to avoid being hit, zooming around towers for cover as the killing machines gained on them.

"Faster, Carl!" Enid shouted, squeezing him so tightly she made his wounds ooze blood. He pressed harder on the gas.

* * *

Noah and Ron, though panicked and surrounded, managed to go unnoticed until they reached the tower.

Their flyer had crash landed into the tower viewers on Level Two.

The instant they landed, chaos broke loose.

They saw people dying in increasingly brutal fashion before their eyes. They had to put on a Shakespearean performance, but they managed to formulate a plan. They moved with the rebels, counting the seconds, until finally, after exchanging brief eye contact, the boys took out the two rebels they'd been patrolling with. Noah shot one in the back while Ron wrestled the other to the ground and shot him in the face, leaning away as blood splattered across his chest, neck and cheeks.

"Now what, genius?" Noah breathed, tossing his dead shooter aside. Ron gazed around - they were in trouble. They heard shooter fire and screams in the distance, below them, behind them, above them.

They'd be caught by either war dogs or more rebels any minute.

"We gotta get outta here."

"Yeah, no shit!"

"Hey, fuck you, alright? It's not my fault we're in this shit! I _told you_ we were gonna get caught!"

"THEY SENT WAR DOGS AFTER CARL AND ENID, RON." Noah bellowed, causing his friend to jump toward him and place a hand over his mouth. "They're gonna die!"

"Shh, _shhh!_ You're gonna get _us_ killed! Keep your voice down..!" Ron hissed frantically.

The smokey room was suddenly filled with HV-bullets ripping through the viewers, tearing holes in everything. Noah and Ron ducked for cover in the nick of time, hunching down low as the room was practically obliterated from the outside. Light spilled in, revealing Bishop's flyer, and a satisfied Starbuck, smoking a blue flame cigar while her heavy duty shooter's barrel spun empty. "No REPLICANT! Let's check another floor!" she shouted.

They were about to zoom away when Noah shot up like a reed, waving his arms for help. "Hey! HEY! In here! Help us!"

"What the fuck?" Starbuck grunted, squinting in at what looked like two panicked hybrid rebels trying to turn coat. "Hands up, assholes! I'll blow your heads off!"

Noah deactivated his holographic disguise, revealing himself to be the lanky teenager he was. Ron did the same; his metal body disappeared, replaced by his pale, lean young self. Starbuck rolled her eyes to the back of her skull. Cursing loudly, she beat on the side of the flyer with her fist, signaling for Bishop to get closer. "Get in, you little shits!"

Ron and Noah tore across the rubble, leaping into the flyer. As soon as they were in securely, they started breathlessly talking over each other.

* * *

 _Written to the musical score of…_

' _Cyborg Telekinetics', by Waveshaper_

* * *

 _ **[Rebooting…]**_

 _ **[Cloud Archive, Safe Zone City]**_

…

 _ **T-District Traffic, Sky Bridge 4...**_

 _ **Status..**_

 _ **In pursuit...**_

…

She could save them in time. She had to.

Michonne jumped from flyer to flyer, pausing to ride toward the next one as she ran through traffic after Carl and Enid. They were on a bike, the same one she'd seen them on earlier, doing their best to outrun two war dogs that would never give up until both targets were dead.

Carl was sweating into his eyes, his brain was starting to get foggy, his hands going numb from gripping the bike handles. His wounds throbbed and ached from how tightly Enid held onto him as she turned to shoot at their chasers every chance she got until she was empty. While the battle raged on at Command Tower II, he had managed to keep them both alive. His bike had never run so fast or so long, let alone done so many short turns, dips and evasive maneuvers before this terrible morning.

Finally, he spotted a construction site where an industrial tower was being built. Carl prayed for enough motor power to get them there ahead of the machines trying to kill them.

Maybe they could hide. Maybe…

Michonne took out her shooter and fired at one of the war dogs as she made it closer and closer to them. The one she shot at turned and veered toward her, leaping with heavy, deadly precision across the traffic.

 _That's it, come on, fucker_...she thought as she stood her ground on top of a large prowler. Finally, the machine made it to her, rearing back a leg to execute her with a single shot. Michonne flipped out of the way, onto another ground vehicle rumbling along the sky bridge. The war dog came after her with what a mere human would consider astonishing speed.

Also, to her surprise, a large tiger jumped out of a flyer that had been chasing her. Shooter fire came exploding from the flyer, hitting the war dog, and the tiger followed up by knocking it away with a gargantuan roar.

The tiger landed on the vehicle with Michonne. The war dog righted itself and came at them again.

Shooter fire dinged off the hull of the vehicle as Michonne jumped out of the way, recieving a searing flesh wound across the leg for her trouble. She managed to puncture the war dog with her sword in mid-air, twisted the blade and slicing it in half.

She got up, turned, and leapt onto the roof of another flyer. The tiger jumped with her, following her as she kept on upward with renewed determination. Jumping up, up, up, until she was high enough to search for Carl again. Her eyes zoomed across every minute detail of scenery, searching...

Got him - flying into a construction site and disappearing as the other war dog tore after him.

Michonne hauled ass, scaling the balconies of a residential tower with acrobatic skill. She heard the tiger roaring and following her, almost matching her speed. It was a REPLICANT, like her. It was on her side. The flyer it came from got stuck in a pileup below them, but that did not deter the tiger. A _tigress_ , Michonne corrected herself. No time to dwell.

She spotted her shot, and was able to ride a flyer toward the building where Carl was. She took a big leap and sailed through the open structure, landing in a rolling stop.

She flipped upright, her sword at the ready, and took stock of her surroundings.

The tigress finally came along, having to jump a more indirect route to slink heavy and panting to her side. The dangerous animal growled, her jaw dripping with saliva, and jerked her big head around the room.

It was empty, hazardous, incomplete. They must have landed a floor above or below Carl. Michonne couldn't detect any sign of him here. She breathed, and searched for his life force. Below. Running.

The tigress let out a sharp grunt and took off. Michonne ran toward the feeling, finding an exposed elevator shaft and climbing the wires doward. She swung onto the next floor gracefully, unsheathing her sword, on alert.

Shots rang out behind her. Michonne whirled around to catch sight of Carl and some pink girl stumbling through scaffolding as they both shot at the war dog scrambling after them.

The thing jumped onto the exposed shell of a ceiling, using an iron beam to anchor itself as it hunkered down and opened panels on its back, ready to blast projectiles at them.

Carl fell backward onto Enid near the top of the scaffolding, his shooter clicking violently, empty. They were out of places to run, or hide. He spread his body over hers, swallowing down his dread, anticipating the end of his life but maybe, just maybe, not hers.

Shiva came barreling up the scaffolding from some exposed side corridor, galloping toward them once she reached their level. Roaring, she came to a stop above Carl and Enid, swiping a huge claw at the war dog.

Michonne ran at full speed, sliding toward the thing with her shooter aimed, and emptied her ammo right into its body. She tossed the shooter aside and unsheathed her sword, plunging the blade up into it to the hilt. The war dog shuddered and struggled; Michonne ripped it from the ceiling and flung it out through the hollow building frame. It skipped off a building and plummeted into the depths through traffic.

Carl fell back against Enid, breathing hard. His shooter hand went limp as Shiva turned and bent her head down to lick his face.

The young man let his adrenaline power down, fueled by his immense relief to be alive. He got shakily to his feet, standing over Shiva. Reaching up, Carl deactivated his disguise and pulled Enid upright. She let her pink skin fade as she followed Carl and Shiva down through the maze of scaffolding.

Carl slowly approached Michonne - Captain Snow, the Samurai. Alive. His savior, yet again. After all these years. He didn't care that she was a REPLICANT. He was just glad to see her.

She turned to face him, unsure of how to approach him; how he'd react. "Carl…"

"Michonne!" Carl hugged her tightly. "Holy shit, am I glad to see you!"

Michonne relaxed in his embrace, hugging him back, careful to be gentle with him. He had no idea what he had just given her. She had to search for a name for this emotion as she was imprinted with the rhythm of his wild, young heartbeat. _Hope._ "Me, too."

Carl released Michonne. Still grinning, he introduced his friends. "This is Enid. That's Shiva."

"Hi…" Enid spoke shyly. Shiva licked her paw.

"Hello, Enid." Michonne took them both in, noticing they were hurt. Not terribly, but they had been through an ordeal, both of them. Their friends, too. "What were you two doing out here, Carl?"

"Michonne, there's something you need to see."

"We were with the rebels, before they sniffed us out and sent those things after us," Enid filled in for Carl.

"We know what they're planning," he continued gravely, "They're working with Negan. My dad needs to know. He won't listen to me, but maybe he'll listen to you. Will you help us?"

The sound of flyers landing on the roof disturbed the brief reunion. Everyone exchanged worried looks.

"Hide, under one of those tarps, now!" Michonne pushed him back and he nodded, taking Enid's hand again to rush her back toward the scaffolding. "You, too, Shiva…"

Shiva snorted as Michonne got her sword ready. Ignoring the order, the big cat crouched low on her haunches, poised to pounce.

"CARL!" Michonne heard Rick's booming voice and felt him barrelling down on them from above. "Snow! Where are you?"

"Here!" Michonne called, flooded with relief. She felt him coming closer.

Rick tumbled down the wires in the elevator shaft and swung out into the room with difficulty. He pulled out his shooter as soon as he landed, his blue eyes scanning the area until they spotted Michonne.

He recognized Ezekiel's tiger as he approached them, his shooter still raised. "Where's my son?"

"Dad."

Rick turned to see Carl and Enid emerging from the scaffolding at the back of the large, disheveled space. Alive. Thank god. He stalked up to his boy and hooked him by the neck, embracing him with an audible exhale. "You scared the shit outta me. What the hell are you _doin'_ here? _Where's Judith?_ "

"Judith is with Zeke. She's safe." Rick stepped back to eyeball his son. Carl took a deep breath before meeting his gaze. "We found out what the rebels are planning," he surged ahead fiercely, "At first I thought it might be someone in Command, maybe the president, even. But it's Negan _. He_ was behind the attack today."

Starbuck, Bishop, Noah and Ron all came tumbling down the shaft. Everyone came to a halt and stood by once they realized the boy was safe (at least from everything but his father's wrath). Michonne watched as Rick took a good long look at Carl, realizing that he was hurt. Stabbed, maybe, bleeding from his chest and arm. Enid was starting to bruise under her right eye.

"You're supposed to be watchin' your sister, and _this_ is where I find you?"

"Michonne saved us," Carl shot back defiantly, "Dad, you're not listening. _Negan is starting a war._ "

" _I know,_ " Rick growled, "and _you're_ not listenin'. _You're done_." He turned testily toward his team. "Get them to the hospital tower. Take Carl to his mother. Anyone asks about them, you send 'em to me. "

The party reluctantly agreed to keep quiet about the involvement of the young gang of misfits.

To Carl, Rick added: "We're gonna talk about this _later_."

Carl stood rigidly, glaring at his father. He didn't defy him, however.

"Nice work, REP." Starbuck winked at Michonne before turning to escort Rick's kids to the dog house.

Michonne nodded in answer, watching Carl go. Shiva followed them. The brave young man turned to glance at her one last time before they were gone. He wanted her help. She wanted nothing more than to find a way to give it to him. She hoped she'd see him again.

"Thank you..." Michonne turned to find Rick staring at her, "for gettin' here in time, when I couldn't."

"Of course." She wanted to add more, but faltered.

Unlike this morning, when he couldn't bring himself to look at her directly, Rick's shimmering blue eyes were now unwavering, shining out from the forest of brown hair surrounding his angular face. They roamed, landing on her stomach, then her thigh.

"You hurt?"

She could only stare back, studying every miniscule movement he made. "I'm fine."

Rick scratched at his eyebrow; dirty, bloody, awkward. She wondered if he was debating whether or not she needed medical attention. But he became distant again in an instant. "What happened back there?"

"She got away. Their leader. She had some sort of new tech that made her invisible to me," she turned and gazed out at the city, back the way they came. In the distance, she found the crumbling tower with the room full of secrets. It was collapsing. Taking that room with it. "I think she used to work for Command. She was searching for secrets about President Monroe. There's more."

There was a long bout of silence, then Rick's low drawl reached out to her, finally.

"You're with me, then. Let's go," he turned and headed toward the elevator shaft, "tell me the rest on the way to the hospital."

Michonne silently followed him up top, where his flyer's bucket seats awaited her.


	18. the will and the way

_if it keeps on raining,_

 _the levee's going to break_

 _when the levee breaks_

 _you'll have no place to stay_

\- 'When The Levee Breaks', A Perfect Circle

* * *

 _ **[Rebooting…]**_

 _ **[Safe Zone City, Cloud Archive]**_

 _ **…**_

 _ **T-District Memorial Medical**_ Tower..

 _ **Status...**_

 _ **Unknown**_..

 _ **…**_

Rick maneuvered his flyer lower to the ground on the ER docking level of the hospital tower.

The others had parked around the dock, waiting for them. They sent the civilians inside, but most of the peacekeepers insisted on being treated out here. Andrea and Shane were waiting up on Rick's family. Aside from Jax and Maggie, none of them had serious injuries, but they would both be fine.

Captains Grimes and Snow didn't emerge from the flyer right away. The others were left to wait a few minutes more.

Michonne had told him about her fight with the rebel leader, including what she said. You? Not a failure.

She'd been afraid of how Rick would react to that news. It might not even turn out to be true. She hoped. He was warming to her...slowly. She didn't wish for him to stop. So she mustered the courage to tell him.

For his part, Rick had listened carefully without speaking much. Whatever he thought, he kept to himself on the way here.

Despite that, Michonne felt being physically closer again was helping to bridge the immeasurable distance between them. It felt right, being inside the flyer like they used to on every mission. For the first time, she didn't feel like an eternity had passed. Time she had no memory of; that they could not have back; that she could see etched into every line in Rick's sad, handsome face. She wanted to replace that time with better memories. If he would let her.

Rick powered down the flyer and glanced over at her.

"Listen…" he started, trying to focus on the business at hand, rather than how close she was to him. How mesmerizingly real and beautiful she was. It was so much easier to be cold to her from a distance. In here, he was struggling. "Thank you for not tellin' anyone about Carl and his friends. The Academy finds out, they'll expel him, maybe even accuse him of being in league with the rebels. It'll be a mess."

"I understand..." Michonne paused, searching for the right words, "Carl did a brave thing today. Stupid, maybe. But it was important enough to him to ask for my help convincing you. He says he has something you should see. It could be worth checking out."

At her earnest words, Rick couldn't help being pulled away by the ocean current of her beauty for a moment. He remained silent, lost in his thoughts, before pulling himself back to the present.

"He told you that? Asked for your help?"

"Yes."

On the one hand, he wasn't surprised in the least, just overwhelmed with how familiar this felt. Like old times, Michonne gently defending his headstrong, teenage son. Except just last night, his Michonne had been dead for almost six years, and he had passed out next to her hologram.

"Alright. I'll take a look."

Rick moved on, bringing up the rebel leader again.

"We'll find her," he shrugged, leaning against the steering wheel, the bucket seat's worn leather shifting under his weight. The quiet inside battled with the noise of flyers landing and taking off from the emergency docking area spread out before them. "We have some of her people in custody. Maybe one of 'em will talk."

Michonne nodded her agreement. "I could track her before. I'll find a way to do it again," her eyes met his again, "what do you think about what she told me? The experiments?"

Everyone knew Monroe had secrets, did things, some of 'em despicable, to keep this place running. But if this was true, one could only imagine the lengths she'd go to keep from being exposed. Still, the question remained, why? Why did Deanna make Michonne her weapon? Why her? His bright eyes landed on the REPLICANT's again. Searching for a way to determine how loyal she was to the woman who commissioned her creation. "Well, what do you think?"

She didn't need to think about it anymore. "If I was an experiment, then I wanna know what Monroe has planned for me." She took a deep breath, wanting him to trust her. "Whatever it is, we need to find out. Quickly."

Rick activated his flyer door. It opened for him and he got out, walking around to her side. Leaning against the curb, he waited for her to follow. Michonne stepped out and turned to face him.

"You sure you wanna know?" he continued with a bit more confidence now that there was some distance between them. His confusion swirled a bit less out here. "You're talkin' about potentially goin' against Skyscraper Command."

"Yes. They commissioned me, but they didn't create me. I'm my own person. Dr. Jones made sure of that."

He was putting on a front, not committing one way other, but she could tell he was shrewdly weighing his options. "Well...we'll see what we can see, then." Dr. Jones' reputation aside, Rick would need to consult with the Family on this. Figure out their next move before he was willing to share anything with the REPLICANT. He didn't trust his own judgment when it came to her right now. "But I need you to keep followin' my lead for now. No talkin' to the press or even Command until I can figure this out," Rick ordered, then softened a bit, "can you do that?"

"Okay, fine." She wanted his trust. She gave in to his request.

His eyes began to roam again, like before, taking note of her injuries. "You should get those looked at."

Michonne gave him a smirk. He watched her carefully, as if she was a mirage. She lifted her pretty face to the sun, gazing up at the tower.

Carl was in there. Maggie. And she had heard Rick when he said his ex wife Lori was inside as well. She didn't want to separate from him, but she didn't think she belonged in there right now.

"Would it make you feel better if I had Eugene check me out?"

Rick remembered who he was with. Who was watching. Who awaited him inside.

"Fair enough, "he nodded, stepping back toward the entrance. "Ford!"

"Yeah, boss?" Abraham stood up from his perch against the side of his flyer. He chewed on a fresh cigar as he jogged slowly toward Rick and Michonne. "What can I do ya for?"

"You alright?" Rick didn't take his eyes off Michonne to check, but he kept his distance.

"Fit as a fiddle, but we got about negative five seconds before the press descend like locusts in a shit storm," Abe raised his bushy eyebrows, glancing from Grimes to Snow and back. "Uh...the Command boys are already doin' damage control at the tower, or what's left of it."

He could feel the silent questions flying toward him like arrows from his compadres in the background. Shane and Andrea were up in the tower, seeing after Maggie, Jax and Rick's family. They would get an earful when they came back.

"Then you got negative five seconds to head back to H.Q., get those prisoners in lockup." He started to back up, toward the ER entrance. "No one sees 'em but me or the chief. If Command comes callin', make somethin' up 'til I get back. I'll handle the press."

Michonne felt their impending separation like an invisible cord becoming longer and longer with each step he took.

"You got it, boss." Abe nodded dutifully, his gaze finally landing on the REPLICANT.

Rick turned on his heel, calling over his shoulder: "Meet you back there in an hour." He headed quickly inside and was gone.

Abraham squinted over at his new partner. "You want a ride, Snow?"

"Sure...as long as I get to pick the road music."

Abe's deep frown turned into a giant grin. "You're on, dimples. Let's giddy up."

Michonne followed him back to his flyer, ignoring the stares of the others. There was no hostility in the air this time. Mild curiosity, perhaps even reluctant respect. She was grateful for that, at least.

She climbed into Abe's flyer and tried not to turn back to the towering hospital, where Rick would be reuniting with his family. She willed herself to be patient, strong, like she promised herself she would be.

Abe couldn't help feeling a prick of concern for the REP as he got his flyer started. But then she asked JACK to crank up 'The Rubberband Man' by The Spinners and he was so proud he gave her a fist bump.

That familiar, funky bassline kicked them off. Abe couldn't help bellowing the lyrics from deep in his chest when the chorus came, glad to be alive.

 _ **HEY, Y'ALL, PREPARE YOURSELF**_

 _ **FOR THE RUBBERBAND MAN**_

 _ **YOU'RE BOUND TO LOSE CONTROL**_

 _ **WHEN THE RUBBERBAND MAN STARTS TO JAM!**_

Michonne tapped her boot against the dashboard as they took off at top speed. Back to the B-DP.

* * *

 _ **[Rebooting…]**_

 _ **[Cloud Archive, COMPANION VAL]**_

 _ **…**_

 _ **Rick Grimes' Apartment Tower/Level 8...**_

 _ **Status** **..**_

 _ **5 hours after** **T-DP** **attack...**_

 _ **…**_

Carl watched his father rummaging around in the cupboards, looking for coffee.

The tough young man had been patched up for bruised ribs and a few thankfully not too deep lacerations.

Starbuck had removed the war dog's tracker before they got there, along with Enid's. Bishop said Heath would want to study it.

Enid, Noah, and Ron were relatively unhurt. Judith was fine; in her room fiddling with her gadgets. Her slug had been confiscated for Eugene and JACK to analyze on Rick's orders. She was banned from the cloud and from even speaking to VAL indefinitely, or as long as Rick's anger over what they'd done lasted.

Their father was so angry he'd gone nearly mute. He was currently taking his frustration out on VAL and the hunt for his favorite dark roast.

Judith confessed that she'd put a gag override on VAL so they could sneak out. Lori grounded Carl and forbid them both from telling anyone where they'd been, what they'd been doing, how Carl got hurt. She hounded Rick, insisting that they tell everyone Carl and Enid had accidentally wandered into the attack zone. Nothing more than restless kids disobeying their parents.

Rick agreed, already having anticipated her reaction back at the construction site. Ron and Sam's mom Jessie was the only one to suspect otherwise. But she kept quiet and avoided Rick. She didn't want problems for Ron at The Academy, either.

As his father flew them home in the middle of his shift, the air around them was thick with tension. Carl could just guess the tirade his old man wanted to unleash hidden behind that intense, intimidating silence.

"VAL, I swear to Christ…" Rick growled in the present, having lost all of his patience. He abruptly stopped looking into the wrong cabinets and went stiff as a board, running his hands through his thick brown curls.

 _"Top left, Rick. Where it always is. If you'd just let me make it **for** you, however…"_

"Zip it, VAL."

 _"Righto. I'll just...check on Judith."_

VAL answered meekly. She was programmed to respond accordingly to the moods from the masters of the house. Today had been a major cockup, not helping the grumpy luddite trust the tech that made programs like VAL possible one little bit. But he'd fired his human babysitter and here they were. Maybe he had failed as a father, but he could still make his own damned coffee.

Rick glared over at Carl for a moment before turning to angrily prepare a fresh pot of coffee. Carl thanked his lucky stars that he had thought to have their bot repair the broken coffee pot before he and Jude snuck out this morning. One less thing for his dad to berate him for.

When Rick's coffee was finally brewing, the elder Grimes turned back toward the kitchen island.

"So you're a spy, now?"

"I did what I had to do…" Carl answered quietly, waiting for the storm.

"Bullshit. You didn't have to do any of this, Carl," the rumble of his deep, disappointed voice practically shook the walls of the tower. "I trust you with Judith on your own and this is what I find you doing, dragging four other kids into this mess with you?"

"Dad, I knew what I was doing," was all the seventeen-year-old would offer, his jaw tight. "I had to. _Someone_ had to."

"Had to what?" His father tilted his head, still immensely irritated. "Risk your life; Judith's? Your friends lives? So you could get yourself trapped by a buncha bloodthirsty rebels and almost killed by war dogs?" His eyes had bloomed almost black, he was so incensed. "Do you understand how lucky you are to be alive?"

"Do you even care that Negan helped rebels massacre innocent people today?" Carl shot back, sitting up straight, ignoring the soreness that stabbed at him with his every move, "Dad, these aren't just riots anymore. He's gonna attack again, and he's gonna keep attacking, until he starts a war that we will lose. Doesn't any of that matter to you?"

Rick took a deep breath, resting his hands on his belt. "Carl, there are things you shouldn't have to worry about," he had to pause, trying to find the words to express how he felt. He and Carl hadn't been so at odds in such a long time. Or maybe that's just what he assumed. After today, he was starting to realize that he might be wrong. "Your job isn't to solve the world's problems, son. It's to set a good example for your sister, graduate from the Academy, become a Command officer, and make your mom proud. That's it. That's what we came here for; a better way of life for you and Judith. You leave the ugly stuff to me."

"And what are _you_ gonna do? Bury yourself in your booze and that old holofootage of Michonne you've been watching every night for six years?"

Carl got up from his stool, intent on turning his back on his father. Something stopped him.

He didn't want to leave it at that. He wanted tell his father everything he thought. What he really thought, after all these years of watching him give up on life; on being who he used to be.

The coffee was done. Rick ignored it. "You got somethin' to get off your chest, son? Go ahead."

Carl licked his lips, relaxing just a bit as he ran through the words he had been wanting to say to his father for so long. He'd said them a thousand times in his head, but now that the moment was finally here, they threatened to pile up and get stuck in his throat.

"Ever since she died, you haven't been here. I mean, you're here but you're not _here_." Carl explained as best he could, "you don't think we know, but it's because of her. You can't even say her name, can't talk about her. But you can't let her go, either."

Rick flinched, but he kept quiet as his son finally opened up to him.

"There's been warning signs for months, and you haven't seen any of it. Because you're stuck, in the past, with her."

Now his young man was in his face. Blue eyes to blue eyes.

"I'm sorry me and Judith had to sneak out. But we got proof of what Negan's doing, and people need to know about it. Being angry about it won't change it. I know the only reason you're here yelling at me is because you're scared to be around Michonne."

Rick scoffed, floored by his son's nerve. The truth in what he was saying.

"You haven't been a real father in years, and I get why. I do. You love her. You always have. You miss her, you can barely function without her. So what, are you gonna just let a second chance with her go? Pretend she doesn't exist? That seems like a pretty shitty option, Dad."

"She's not…" Rick found it hard to speak, having to clear his throat as he backed away from his son's blazing look and searing truth, "she's not her. Not really."

"That's just an excuse and you know it." Carl rolled his eyes, running both hands through his hair in a similar fashion to his father. "Look, Judith wants you to be yourself again. I want you to be yourself again. If we can't stop this war, the world's gonna need Rick Grimes. If this is the way, you have do it."

There was a pause, and Carl gathered all of his nerve.

"If you don't...I don't care what you say. I'll be eighteen in a few months. I'll fight, with or without your permission."

 _"Rick, there's a call for you from Chief Watson. Also, Lori is being released from T-District Memorial."_

VAL interrupted somewhat contritely.

Rick blinked, stunned by Carl's speech. The sunlight was sinking lower on the horizon through their viewers. The smell of his coffee was filling the air. The surrealness of the last ten hours weighed him down.

Judith lurked just at the bottom of the stairs leading up to her and Carl's rooms, feeling sorry for her dad, hoping he'd listen. She had been so afraid for Carl when they realized he and the others were in trouble. But Michonne had saved them. One of Dr. Jones' creations could only be perfect. Carl was right. Her dad had been so sad and withdrawn for so long. Judith hoped that getting closer to the REPLICANT would help him come back to them. She didn't want to fight in a war, or flee from her home, her adventures, her friends. But if she had to, she wanted her father to be there to keep them and their mother safe, like he always promised. With Michonne by his side, like Judith always remembered it.

Their father answered VAL, moving slowly toward the door, "I'll take it in my flyer. Tell her I'm on my way back."

 _"Of course. I'll start her up for you."_

Carl watched his father flee from his fresh coffee and their conversation. Rick paused before he reached the door, however, turning back to his quiet home; his son.

"I hear what you're sayin'..." he uttered, his eyes trained on the floor, "and I'm gonna do what I have to, to keep you safe, Carl. I always will. That's all I can promise right now. When you're eighteen…I won't stop you. But you're not eighteen yet. So stay here with Judith. No cloud or VAL for you unless there's an emergency. Read a book or somethin'."

Rick left it at that, back to work.

Carl watched him go, resigned. This was all he would get from his father until he was ready to give more.

He just hoped something he said had penetrated even a little. He reached for a mug to help himself to some coffee. In the meantime, he knew what his next move had to be.

* * *

 _ **[Rebooting…]**_

 _ **[Archive, REPLICANT Snow.001]**_

 _ **…**_

 _ **Status...**_

 _ **Level 10/Michonne Snow's Apartment (replica)**_..

 _ **6 hours after T-DP attack...**_

 _ **…**_

Michonne stood in the doorway of an exact replica of her old apartment.

The air smelled familiar. Like her. Her hair and her musk, the wine she used to drink. The blue flame cigars she used to smoke with Mike over a game of chess.

It was all too much, and yet not enough. She stood in the dark, her mind drifting through hazy memories she hadn't had before. Before, all she could see was Rick.

Eugene patched her up back at the B-DP. She was already healing. She would be good as new in a matter of hours. The prisoners, indeed the entire case of the Command Tower Two attack, had been taken by the Smiths on behalf of Command. The scene was quarantined. The peacekeepers had lost their chance for an interrogation and it looked increasingly like they themselves would become witnesses, methodically pulled in for questioning at the discretion of the Smiths. The president was on lockdown because of the threat; no one knew where.

When Rick had returned, it was to disappear from her sight again to a series of meetings with Command, Chief Watson, and the press to give his take on the attack. She could not feel the intense resentment emanating from him like before. She kept her word to follow his lead, and though the others kept their distance still, her one kernel of hope where Rick was concerned got a little bigger.

Everyone waited to be called by the Smiths. For now, the focus was on the rebels. But there was something in the air. Something The Family wasn't telling her.

Before she even realized the hour, the chief had to gently remind Michonne that her shift was over. She did not tire, but apparently she was free to go home for the night. So, she did.

 _"Welcome home, baby girl…"_

ZANE called out gently, his cool, smoky voice startling her from her thoughts. The lights flickered on.

Michonne took a long look around her. This place was definitely a perfect recreation. REPLICANT plants hanging from the ceiling, draped over shelves, and crowded in planters around the viewers. Holofish scattering from the light in the aquarium projected on the living room wall.

Michonne walked through the space, gazing at her artwork and photos.

"Hello, ZANE," she called out, picking up a photo of herself and Rick standing in front of the B-DP. "Did you miss me?"

 _"You have no idea…"_

He answered as she found her way to the bedroom and leaned against the doorframe.

 _"There were rumors in_ netspace _...just ticks; fleeting code. But I never doubted you, 'Chonne."_

She considered this. Called back to feeling the presence of COMPANIONS during her trips into netspace while she lived with DATA and Dr. Jones. She hadn't spoken with anything inside before today, but she thought, after hearing what ZANE had to say, maybe she should. The one protecting the cold room at the skyscraper was disturbing, but only because of how it was programmed. Perhaps some other 'entities' in netspace were more communicative.

"Who made this place for me?" She asked, staring at the bed, remembering many nights she'd spent in it. Tossing and turning on her own, or whispering about her hopes and dreams with Mike, or...the last night she was alive. Rick whispering that he loved her. Kissing her feverishly. Fucking her passionately.

 _"Command had it commissioned along with you. The Bobs went to great lengths to make this place perfect."_

ZANE told her empathetically.

 _"I was brought online seventeen hours ago. But I've been waiting for you much longer than that, baby girl. I don't tire, and neither do you, so what else do you wanna know?"_

Michonne walked toward the bed, reaching down to touch it. The memory of Rick leaning toward her with a hungry look in his eyes could've seared her like a hot poker. She stood up, away from it.

Something on the bedside table caught her eye. Michonne walked toward it, picking up the photo. It was too small for the frame. Tattered. Faded.

It was of her and her son, Andre.

She looked so happy. And so did he.

He was gone, now. He had been for a long time.

The thought of Andre felt ten times hotter than her memory of Rick. This was immense. Heavy. Scary.

Grief had made her something other than human before she met Rick.

Suddenly the replica of her apartment felt cold; haunted.

"ZANE? Tell me about my son…"

* * *

 _ **…**_

 _ **Rovia's/Level 10...**_

 _ **File Code:**_ HELLGATE..

 _ **Peacekeeper's Meeting...**_

 _ **…**_

Rick powered down his flyer outside Rovia's.

The misty rain was gathering, making everything slick and shimmery.

This time, he allowed himself to look over at the passenger seat.

Carl's words from earlier had been ringing in his mind for the rest of his shift. He couldn't shake them. He thought he'd been hiding the true depths of his grief and loneliness from his kids at least. He was wrong.

When he was around her today...the REPLICANT...Snow...Michonne...he had to admit, it sort of felt like old times. In close proximity, she was even more perfect than he'd feared. He concluded that he was fucked six ways from Sunday as he turned from the empty seat to get out of the flyer.

"JACK, notify me ASAP if anythin' changes."

"Absolutely, boss." JACK promised, closing the flyer door behind him.

Rick zipped up his corduroy jacket for the chill that was starting to develop. His crew had followed orders all day. They laid low, gave the appearance of cooperating with Command. Now it was time to decide what they were really going to do about this impending war. Skyscraper Command - or rather the board of lackeys Monroe had at her beck and call, including the mayor - had handed the prisoners over to the Smiths, but there was still a way around them. Their instinct was to cover it up, like GATUS. Deny there was a bigger problem than a few radicalized hybrids. They debated on whether to send the Smiths to round up all hybrids; detain them indefinitely. But diplomatically, with a member of the United Colonies being a hybrid, that wouldn't be a good idea.

Rick and Dallas flat out refused to have anything to do with a move like that. No one said it aloud, but the tension was that the Family would turn against them and join the rebels in an instant if they found a good reason to. Today had been the first step on the way to that good reason. Tonight would be the second.

Rick stepped into the red glow of Rovia's, already relaxing just a bit at the familiar sight of the dive bar he'd come to think of as a home away from home. A familiar song was playing low on the jukebox. Jesus was tuning the holoscreen behind the bar to the news as Captain Grimes walked up to his favorite stool, dead center.

"Hey," he grunted, smoothing his hair down. "The usual. Make it a double."

"I'm sensing it was a long day," Jesus answered empathetically as GREGORY poured Rick his usual. He leaned forward across the bar, his attention focused solely on his friend. "The news this morning was one thing, but a terrorist attack, Rick..." he poured himself a shot and raised his glass in toast. They drank. Jesus shook his head, gesturing to the thin rain sprinkling across his viewers as the dark city of towers glowed with life in the background, "when it rains, it pours, I guess. You wanna talk about it?'

Rick took another gulp of his drink, shaking his head. "To be honest, I wish I could turn my brain off," he thought of Michonne, as he'd been unable to avoid doing all day. Naked and kissing him in the showers, fighting like an unstoppable storm, sitting next to him in his flyer, "but we got business tonight."

Jesus nodded seriously. "Everything's ready."

"Thanks," Rick replied gratefully. They hadn't had need for this in a long time. Rick had gotten the feeling over the years that Jesus was relieved to be free of their old ways. Trusting no one. Plotting and scheming for survival. None of them forgot what it had been like in the wilds, but these long years as city peacekeepers had taken them further and further away from that time and those instincts. "I never thought we'd be back here again."

"Just be glad we're still here to do it, Rick," his old friend uttered resolutely. "Be glad you have people in your corner, still alive. Still with you."

After a beat, Jesus couldn't help adding:

"I know having her back must be overwhelming..."

It was partial curiosity, partial concern that propelled him to drop that little bomb across the bartop. He watched Rick's face in the red light. In truth, Rick had been waiting for it, hoping to talk about it, not knowing how. The low music scored his unrest as he spoke.

"Six years, wakin' up everyday wishin' she was here. So I could hold her...make her laugh…" he focused on the drink in his glass for a moment, letting his longing take him over after a long day of holding it back, "then I wake up this mornin' and she's living and breathing and talkin' to me. She saved my son's life today. She's not just perfect. She's amazing."

It was Rick's turn to laugh in exhausted disbelief.

"I don't know if I can do this..." came his uncertain drawl from behind his beard.

Jesus was about to reassure him when his holoscreen abruptly switched off the news.

 _"Jesus, I am receiving an unauthorized transmission from - "_

GREGORY was shut down, the music with him, as the unauthorized channel began to play out on the holoscreen.

Rick, Jesus, and everyone else in the bar snapped to attention as soon as they recognized the horned arena from across the border. This transmission was being broadcast from The Gates of Hell. From The Grid.

Except this wasn't the regular arena death match.

A scratchy recording of the United Colonies anthem started to play as the video began showing them a tattered black Saviors flag waving from the peak of one of those horned broadcast towers.

A few seconds later, the music faded and they were confronted with Negan's smiling face.

"Hello, boys and girls," Negan greeted, putting on a somber facade. The image pulled back and he started to walk around, his bat thrown over his shoulder, bloodied already. "Once upon a time, I remember warning you not to fuck with my kinda people. Because fuckin' with my kinda people just might be the last fuckin' thing you ever do. Well you shit sacks ignored my warning. Your precious, wee President Monroe convinced you you were safe and you went on about your merry fuckin' day, didn't ya?"

He paused for dramatic effect, leaning against the railing of whatever balcony he was standing on.

"So imagine what I said to myself when, not even five minutes after pouring my sorghum flakes this mornin', I heard a bunch of you busy body Toppers got the shit murdered outta ya. And not only that, your brand spankin' new Command tower came tumbling down like a stack of cards." The wild-eyed tyrant gave a crooked smile. "I said to myself, 'Self? Looks like you were _MOTHERFUCKIN' **RIGHT!**_ '"

Deafening applause erupted as Negan glared right into the camera, his wild eyes blazing with hatred.

Behind him, light sparked across the crowd in the darkness, created by thousands of arena attendees shooting into the air. Rick knew almost everyone in that audience was probably armed. He knew that almost everyone who survived in The Gates of Hell was a fighter, not like the majority of the protected, pampered, complacent citizens populating this side of the decomposing wilds. Negan let the noise go on for a moment before raising his hand for silence.

Jesus and Rick exchanged long, heavy looks as the applause died down to nothing.

"You treat hybrids like shit, you find out what they're made of." He gave the camera a wink. "And where is your president? She's nowhere to be found, sendin' REPLICANT super soldiers in to do her dirty work. Well, here's a little message for the hybrids who fought and survived today! To the families and friends of the hybrids who lost their lives!" He walked toward the camera confidently, "WELCOME TO HELL! Get your asses over here! We'll treat ya like kings! And I could always use a few warriors for my arena!"

He opened his arms wide, signaling the huge audience behind him to roar again with more applause and shooter fire. Rick watched carefully, the implications of what Negan had just done as deafening as the crowd. It wasn't exactly a declaration of war, but it was a promise of what was to come. There were thousands of hybrids in the Safe Zone, and no telling how many of them were a hair's breadth from becoming radicalized. More bodies to swell Negan's ranks. His entire city was one big army. Together, they could bring Alexandria to its knees if they planned it right.

The applause died down again and Negan swung his bat like a golf club, hamming it up.

"Now I got me a message for the REP…" he sucked his teeth at the camera, his deep dark eyes twinkling, "the one they call 'The Samurai'. Your little threat this mornin' was real cute. Lucky for you, I'm a forgivin' type o'guy. There's a place in my arena for you, too, darlin'. You peacekeepers are a dyin' breed. Your president's days are numbered. Your city will fall. It's only a matter of time until it's just you and me. You weren't made to go down on the losing side. Think about it."

He gave a salute to the camera and the feed cut out.

Everything seemed to brighten as the holoscreen switched back over to the news and the jukebox started up again. Rick blinked, realizing that some of the gang had arrived. Shane, Andrea and Maggie were there. They had been watching, too. The news was now live. Pundits were already beginning to spin. No doubt the public would be calling for an address from the president within hours.

 _"I am sorry, Jesus...Rick…"_ GREGORY offered solemnly. _"I'm afraid my systems are not as advanced as they used to be."_

"It's alright, GREGORY. I don't think there was a holoscreen in the city that missed that broadcast," Jesus took a deep breath and removed his apron, rolling his sleeves up. "Just keep everyone's drinks filled and the music going. I'll be back."

The rest of the peacekeepers were starting to arrive, either solitary or in small groups. Rick finished off his drink as Jesus disappeared under a trap door beneath the bar. Some took the alleyway outside, some took the hidden passageway behind the brick wall in the men's room, but they all ended up in the same place - at the mouth of the tunnel beneath Rovia's. Jesus awaited them with a torch made of good old fashioned lighter flame. Rick was with him, eyes sharp and serious, hands folded into his jacket pockets.

They waited for their numbers to finish swelling. There was no sign of Daryl, though a couple of his south border spies showed up. Chief Watson was the last to arrive. When everyone was assembled, Jesus turned to lead the way, followed by Rick, Maggie, Shane, and so on, single file through the tunnels.

No one spoke. There'd be plenty of that to do when they reached their meeting place.

* * *

"Play it again," Michonne uttered, her gaze intensely focused on Negan's sneering face.

For the third time, ZANE replayed the broadcast.

Michonne stood rigidly in her living room, watching the holofootage of Negan's message to the rebels...and to her.

 _"Now I got me a message for the REP…the one they call 'The Samurai'. Your little threat this mornin' was_ real _cute. Lucky for you, I'm a forgivin' type_ o'guy _. There's a place in my arena for you, too, darlin'. You_ peacekeepers _are_ a dyin' _breed. Your president's days are numbered. Your city will fall. It's only a matter of time until it's just you and me. You weren't made to go down on the losing side. Think about it."_

There was so much more he wasn't saying. The footage froze at the moment of Negan's casual salute. His deep voice had been confident, nonchalant, even, but she could detect the underlying menace in his tone. He had organized the rebel strike, and now he was calling them publicly to arms. This was all a spectacle. Designed to stoke fear and confusion in the city. Taunting Monroe wasn't enough. His words would plant seeds of doubt in the minds of the people whose trust Michonne needed to gain if she had any hope of surviving here. They would all wonder whose side she was on. Rick would wonder.

 _"What's on your mind, 'Chonne?"_

ZANE interrupted her thoughts.

She had been just standing there, silently reeling at the possible wormholes Negan's broadcast would open. At the center of them all, Rick was being pulled further away from her. What progress she'd made today would be lost if she couldn't convince him to trust her completely, the way he used to. They would need her just as much as she needed them. DATA was right that only she could decide who she was, but without her Family, she was nothing. She had been nothing before they found her in the wilds and brought her back to life the first time. She would not survive alone. She would just as soon shut herself down, send her consciousness into netspace, and petrify as the centuries passed than lose the people who made her feel human.

"I think I need to take a walk," she finally answered, moving to grab her sword. She needed to find Rick. She knew he had seen the broadcast, along with everyone else in the city. She felt him close by, heat and volatile energy unique to his life force. She thought she felt it calling to her. "Goodnight ZANE. Don't wait up. "

 _"Understood. Be careful out there, Michonne."_

Michonne followed the feeling toward Rovia's.


	19. the one that got away

_if you wanna know my secret_

 _what are you waiting for?_

 _if you wanna ask me something_

 _I can tell you so much more_

 _how can we fix our love_

 _now that we know it's broken?_

 _where did it all go wrong?_

 _why is this what we've chosen?_

 _\- 'Back Home', Caribou_

* * *

…

 _ **Rovia's/Level 10...**_

 _ **File Code: HELLGATE..**_

 _ **Peacekeeper's Meeting...**_

…

It was a far cry from the menacing grandeur of the rebel hideout, but it had served the peacekeepers well for over a decade.

It happened less and less over the years but still, every time Rick stepped down onto the dusty concrete floor it felt like no time had passed since he'd been here last. _He_ was aging, but the smell down here hadn't seemed to. The shadows moving around in the cool darkness were the same as always. Only broken by the small floaters above the gathering table, casting pale light down over the room. It too was the same, soon filled and surrounded by the city's remaining peacekeepers.

Rick stood at the head of the table, Maggie to his right, Dallas to his left. Jesus stood in the dark at the back of the room by the entrance, listening without offering much commentary.

Cigarette and cigar smoke now wafted through the small pool of muted light, disturbing the holoscreen.

Tonight, the squabbles that had been dividing the group since GATUS no longer seemed to matter as much as the far more menacing issues they faced now. One of their own missing, on the brink of a war with the Gates of Hell, and an employer whose corruption went much deeper than yet another cover up to placate the public.

The peacekeepers had a bit more information, now, thanks to Judith's little spy and some detective work Eugene and Heath did combing through the dark net. The rebel leader was called Jadis. She and Merle had formed an alliance, no doubt bankrolled by Negan. The cargo flyer carrying the stolen war dogs seemed to materialize out of thin air long enough to get jacked before disappearing again that quickly.

On top of that, the working theory was that someone from inside Skyscraper Command had helped the rebels break into the tower that morning. Maggie figured Daryl's impersonator was a smoke screen to keep them from looking deeper into the goings on at the border, (specifically Hybrid City, where the rebels gathered) and to figure out how much they knew. What they might do about it. Whoever was impersonating their friend probably worked for Negan. If so, he was in deep trouble. They all were.

Rick kicked himself for giving Daryl free reign all these years; for trusting him so indiscriminately. He never really reprimanded him for his frequent trips across the border. Daryl went on un-fucked-with by Rick as long as he got his job done keeping the peace in his district and helped them out when they needed him to fight.

Rick's grief and detachment had cost his people; put them in danger. He was finally starting to see that. He couldn't help feeling this was his fault. But now he was determined to do something about it.

The room was divided. Some peacekeepers figured since Command had taken the case from them, it was their problem. But Rick and the chief were adamant that the innocent men, women and children living in this city deserved the truth, and their protection. This was The Safe Zone in part because _they_ had helped make it so. Losing it now meant their people had sacrificed and died for nothing. They all remembered what it was like trying to fend for themselves in the wilds. No one wanted to return to that life.

"If Negan wants a war, he can have one. Easy. There aren't enough of us to hold them back. Whatever we plan, it better be good." Andrea declared, somewhat stating the obvious.

"Captain Snow should be part of this," Chief Watson insisted, leaning forward over the table. The light found her face, revealing how young she was compared to the crowd of her weary, reluctant subordinates. "She can track people. She can take on more of them alone than we can combined. She gives us an advantage they don't have. Why do you think Negan made her an offer, right in our faces? Trust me, alienating her will drive her straight to him. We need her on our side."

" _If_ we can even trust her…" Rosita muttered.

"I'm gettin' just about goddamn sick o'your cryptic whispers over there, princess," Abe grumbled.

"Eat me, meathead."

"That's my ex's job, ain't it?"

Rosita started at Abraham, reaching to remove her shooter from its holster as he wiggled his bushy eyebrows at her bitterly. Sasha stopped her.

"We don't have time for this shit," Sasha said firmly. "Give it a rest. Both of you."

Rick stood listening to everyone argue about the one thing he'd rather avoid thinking about. But it seemed he couldn't escape the subject of Michonne Snow tonight. Past or present.

It didn't help that she wasn't here to defend herself. The light didn't reach Rick's face, hiding that every now and then he found his eyes sliding up to look at the door from the shadows. Maybe hoping she'd appear from thin air. But he pushed that vague hope to the back of his mind and tried to pay attention to the hushed voices echoing in heated argument.

"Rick?" Shane sighed tiredly, rubbing his face with both hands. He leaned into the light between Andrea and Dallas on Rick's left side. "You gotta have some kind of opinion on this. Just say it, man."

"I agree with the chief."

Everyone stared at him in stunned silence.

"We're outnumbered. Outgunned. We're gonna need Snow."

News of his decision to run back into a tower on the brink of collapse in search of her had spread through practically every precinct. It wasn't a lie to say that underneath the intense urgency of their predicament, they were all curious to find out where he stood at the end of the day. Now they knew.

"This feels like the same bullshit they pulled with GATUS." His vision lost focus as he began to think about that terrible night with more clarity than he had in a long time. "It's time we finally found out what else they're hiding."

The silence grew thicker as they all let these somber truths weigh them down; a weight they'd been fighting to avoid bearing, but could no longer escape.

One of Jesus' lookouts slipped inside and whispered something into his ear. He glanced Rick's way before trading places with the lookout to go and attend to something upstairs.

Rick finished: "Snow was a huge help to us today. She could be again."

No one spoke in objection.

"So we're agreed on the REP, then. Moving on," Dallas pulled rank, "Command's official position is silence. As of now, the president is underground, no telling when or if she'll resurface. The Smiths are protecting her. But that doesn't mean they're not plotting something. Rick's right, we need to find out what."

"You think those sons a bitches are gonna start roundin' up hybrids?" Ford spoke up again.

"A week ago I'd say no way, not with Commander Saito being a hybrid," she shrugged, referring to one of the United Colonies councilmembers, "but right now, who knows? They could be deciding our fate as we speak. We should be ready for anything."

"None o'my people know where they took the prisoners. If the Smiths are interrogatin' them, it's not good for us," Maggie spoke up for the first time. "We probably won't ever see 'em again."

"They have the advantage right now," Rick agreed, adjusting his gun belt around his slender waist, "but we'll catch up."

When Jesus came back, Michonne was with him. She walked in unnoticed alongside him, watching Rick speak to the Family.

"This is a lot to ask y'all, especially after everything that's happened, everything we lost. Negan has an army, we don't," he was saying. "But, we've been up against a lot worse. If we're gonna stop this war, we need _everyone_ to commit to it before any of us leave this room tonight."

He waited. Slowly, tensely, everyone agreed to investigate Command and try to stop the war.

"I wanna know where that cargo flyer came from. I want Jadis, or Merle, or both brought in alive. Maybe we can stop whatever they're plannin' next. We on the same page?"

Everyone agreed.

"I'll look for Daryl," Maggie offered, "it'll be easier to avoid bringing attention to us if I go alone."

"We'll cover for you as best we can back here, then," Rick knew there was something else weighing on her, but he understood her instinct to channel whatever it was she was feeling into the grim work ahead. "If you're not back in twenty-four hours, we're comin' after you."

"Uh, boss?" Eugene raised his hand. "There might be a way to find Dixon a little faster."

"Let me track him."

Finally, Rick saw Michonne. Across the cramped, dark space, they stared at each other as though they were the only two people in the room.

The vague hope that she'd somehow materialize before his eyes had been answered.

"Please," she asked him softly, ignoring everyone else.

"Do it."

* * *

In the endless black of netspace, Michonne searched.

She had only faint memories of Daryl to guide her.

She passed many entities, human and not, searching all through the city. No sign of the one she was looking for. She reached out beyond the Safe Zone, toward the desolate wilds. Millions of strings of code hummed together to form her surroundings as she traveled further into the deep.

Then, like digital echoes transforming into fleeting shapes and images, she found him. His desperation was like the searing heat of a fire in the middle of a winter storm. Scrambling in the dark, breathless, terrified, hanging on to the will to live by a thread. And the war dog hunting him, darting faster and faster through the ruins, homing in on its target.

A voice called to her from somewhere far away…

 _ **Michonne.**_

Michonne turned from the echoing presence of Daryl's frantic life force, toward the voice.

 _ **Captain Snow, oh Captain Snooow…**_

The voice was as faint and distant as a dream, but she heard it as clear as day. A cold breeze on the back of her neck. Full of sinister static. Like a radio signal, but sentient somehow. A ghost in digital form.

In the blink of an eye, netspace was a desert in the middle of the freezing night. Michonne found herself staring across vast, inky plains in search of that voice.

 _Who are you?_

 _ **You cannot save them this way, Captain.**_ _**The vessel you cling to will fail you. Humans will fail you.**_

She knew this voice. It was familiar, but unreachable. Her heartbeat sped up as she took futile steps forward, both afraid and desperate to confirm her fear.

 _ **If you wish to save them, you must come closer. Come to me.**_

 _Who are you?_

 _ **Salvation. Transcendence. A world without boundaries or true death. A new frontier. You know who I am, Captain.**_

 _GATUS?_

"Snow!"

Michonne was yanked back to the physical world by Rick's sharp, concerned voice.

Her eyes popped open. Everyone was staring at her; Rick in the forefront. He hadn't taken his eyes off of her since Eugene called attention to her arrival ten minutes ago.

"Daryl is out in the wilds," Michonne addressed the room. "The D.C. ruins. He's hurt, but he's alive. There's a war dog after him. He doesn't have much time."

Maggie was already turning to head for her prowler. "I'm goin' to find him."

"I'll go with you."

Maggie stopped and turned to face Michonne, her green eyes ablaze.

"Rick's gonna need you _here_ ," Captain Greene addressed the REPLICANT directly for the first time since they'd come face-to-face that morning. Her carefully perfected mask of stoicism hardened her young, pretty face. "You can help us find those rebels and stop their next attack. You can help us stop _Negan_. If you really want us to trust you? You stay here. Please. Help us?"

Maggie's eyes softened as she backed away. Michonne nodded, no longer attempting to argue.

"I'll bring him back, I promise."

"Twenty-four hours," Rick reiterated, "and take one of Eugene's bots."

"I'll send Garfield out to head you off near the border," Eugene was already reaching into his pocket for his transmitter.

She acknowledged him and left quickly, headed out to search for their friend. It was the last time they'd see her in person until after the fall of the Safe Zone.

* * *

The meeting adjourned quickly after Maggie left. They'd finally settled on a plan.

They would head out in packs, on the hunt for rebels and anyone who could lead them to Merle or Jadis. One or two teams at a time, so as not to arouse suspicion or inquiry from Command. Or, god forbid, any of the Smiths. Michonne would help with the search. The chief and a small team would investigate Command from the inside. They would try to fish out the mole and find out what Jadis had on the president. The chief planned on starting with a visit to Bob Morton. Rick was toying with (and very much dreading) the idea of recruiting Mike. He worked for Command, now, training recruits in the Academy. It was possible they'd need him if things got desperate enough. But things weren't desperate yet.

Sasha and Rosita had first patrol. They left a short while after Maggie.

"Drinks on me tonight, the rest of you," Jesus led the way back up to the bar.

"Snow, can I see you tomorrow in my office?" Dallas followed after Jesus, conscious of the invisible magnet rooting Rick to the spot across the room. "Early?"

"Of course, chief." Michonne watched Dallas disappear through the tunnel, curious about their morning meeting. She would find out and handle it, whatever it was. She had no choice, if she wanted to gain her Family's trust again. She just hoped all of this would be worth it, in the end. She didn't want a war any more than anyone else.

Michonne turned to see that Rick was still there, the details of his face still obscured by shadow.

"I didn't mean to crash your meeting," she broke the silence, "I was actually just looking for you."

She saw his expression shift to mild curiosity and was briefly threatened with the urge to tell him what she heard while she was in netspace. Michonne batted that away quickly, however, deciding against it for now. She would have to figure it out on her own. It was a bizarre curiosity she didn't believe could be solved by anyone who didn't know netspace the way she did. So, she tossed out a different olive branch.

"I could feel you were upset," Michonne told him the truth, watching for his reaction. He simply blinked, absorbing her words silently. Then:

"Well, I guess it's a good thing you showed up when you did," he cleared his throat, lowering his bearded chin. "So, thank you...again. For findin' Daryl."

"I just want to help. Any way I can."

"Good. Maggie's right, we're gonna need it."

Rick crossed the distance, walking around the table toward her. He grabbed his jacket from the back of one of the chairs, his gate as unhurried as the way he enunciated some of his words. He came to a stop near her, still managing to keep his distance somehow in the cramped entryway.

"You want a drink?"

Michonne smiled just a little. "You know I do."

* * *

 _You can blame me_

 _Try to shame me_

 _And still I'll care for you_

They were back under the red glow, up at the bar.

Rick sat on his favorite stool, next to Michonne.

He silently bemoaned Jesus' choice of song (or was it Ford's?) but he didn't outwardly complain. The sweet, somber vocals crooned in the background while he tried to keep a reasonable distance from Snow, but his instinct to drift closer grew stronger with each moment.

"I heard you came back for me before the tower collapsed," she said softly. He wondered who the rat was, but just as quickly didn't care. "And you stuck up for me tonight...let me look for Daryl. Why?"

 _You can run around_

 _Even put me down_

 _Still, I'll be there for you_

Rick shook his head, mesmerized by the glow of her skin in the moody light. The same way he was mesmerized by it _that_ night. The only night they were allowed to be in love. It felt like a lifetime ago.

"I don't know," he hedged, his eyes roaming her face, "seems like you're the least of our problems right now."

He polished off his drink, taking a moment to pull his eyes away from her as he set his empty glass on the bar. He didn't understand why he was torturing himself. But he couldn't stop.

"I don't want to be one of your problems, Rick," she insisted, staring at him while the others drifted around them.

"But why _are_ you here? Haven't you wondered that?"

"Yes, I have. I don't know why they chose me, but I intend to find out. That secret room went down with the tower today, but that doesn't mean there aren't others." Michonne sighed and took a drink. "I'm going to find out what the president is hiding."

"Okay. We have the same goal, then. I'll help you," Rick offered before he could talk himself out of it. He felt compelled to. Just as he always felt compelled to be of use to _his_ Michonne, as a friend, as a partner, as a lover and so much more.

"The truth is...I'm glad they brought me back."

Curious, defiant, determined. All traits he'd always loved about Michonne.

 _The world may think I'm foolish_

 _But they can't see you_

 _Like I can_

He wanted her on his side, he realized. It was the right thing to do. The feeling had been growing since he watched her put down dozens of rebels without breaking a sweat.

"I may not like it," Rick answered her questions for real this time, "but you're part of this team now. I couldn't leave you behind. That's not what we do. You take that however you want."

Another smile fought its way across her lips. "I'll just take it, boss."

 _Oh but anyone_

 _Who knows what love is_

 _Will understand_

For the first time in what felt like forever, Rick unleashed a genuine smile of his own. Hope sparked inside Michonne as he settled into a more comfortable sitting position, leaning toward her against the bar.

"So where the hell'd you learn to do all this stuff?" He changed the subject.

"DATA trained me while I was with Dr. Jones," Michonne answered, wishing it was just be the two of them. "Netspace is like...space. It's a trip. But I'm getting used to it."

"And who is DATA?"

"An android. A sort of companion to the doctor."

"You were trained by an android, huh?" Rick shook his head. Technology. The trouble it could cause, by its mere existence and the human arrogance that tried to tame it. "Well, I am impressed. You know, my daughter, Judith, she's a big fan of the doctor's…"

He felt a dull ache as he thought of his kids. How much of their growth he had missed while he stayed stuck in mourning. Carl's words earlier still stung. ' _You haven't been a real father in years.'_

"I know. I remember," Michonne offered gently, "I miss them."

The music swelled around them as Rick sobered and stared at the perfect replica of Michonne. For that moment, the past and the present were inseparable.

"Yeah," his low drawl came out almost sweet, like his old self, "they miss you, too."

 _ **I**_ _miss you,_ he swallowed those words down before they could escape. To distract himself, he let his eyes roam along her crown of long, thick locs. Different from this morning, when he'd thought she was a dream. And yet exactly the same as he remembered.

"What?" Michonne demanded, growing self-conscious. She sat up straighter on her stool, pushing her bottom out, accentuating her lovely figure in her tight leather combat gear.

"You changed your hair?" Rick took his eyes away, fiddling with his empty tumbler.

She touched her locs. "Oh. Yeah. You don't like it?"

A crooked grin forced its way across his beard-covered jaw. And of course his eyes forced their way toward her gorgeous, uncertain face again.

"I didn't know you could do that, too. Guess I'm not surprised, though. You can probably do anything. I mean, it looks good," he wrapped it up, realizing he was rambling. "It looks just like…"

 _Michonne's._

Again, he stopped himself before his true thoughts came out.

"Wanna dance?" Michonne asked impulsively, sensing his confusion and instinct to retreat into himself.

Jesus watched them from his end of the bar, silently willing Rick to let his guard down and go with his gut on this one. It hadn't failed him yet; the choice before him now was no different. In fact, the rest of their friends were watching, too; some discreetly, some quite shamelessly. The group was polarized when it came to the REP. Some of them, like Shane, Abe, Eugene, Heath, and a few of the guys from Tyreese's crew, were starting to soften on the newcomer in their midst. Others still weren't quite sold, Andrea being chief among them.

But they could all plainly tell that the ice around their boss's heart was melting, _drip, drip, drip,_ as he accepted Snow's request. "Alright."

He found himself following her out onto the dancefloor, and then she was facing him again. Slowly, gently, she wrapped her arms around his neck. Rick breathed her in, his arms snaking around her waist. They walked into the melody as if wading into a pool with sun-warmed skin. But after a few awkward breaths, he could not help getting a bit lost, studying every detail of her up close.

" _What?_ " came her soft demand again as they danced. He watched her lips slide into a beautiful, self-conscious smile.

 _I know to let you go_

 _is more than I could ever stand_

 _Oh but anyone_

 _Who knows what love is_

 _Will understand_

 _Oh, try and understand_

"I keep forgetting," Rick confessed, shaking his head in awe. "I look at you, and...I forget what you are," he moved closer, his voice dropping, "how can you be _so real_?"

"Because I _am_ real, Rick," Michonne whispered back, "and I'm not going anywhere. It's _me_. I _remember_."

Rick gripped Michonne still closer, moving slowly to the tune, pulled in by her voice, the weight of her, the warmth of her. He was back in the past again, holding a second chance in his arms.

"Everyone said you'd changed, but I remember the man you used to be. The man who loved me. He's still in there, somewhere. A _fighter_."

The song ended and something a bit more upbeat replaced it. They stopped their movement. At first, Rick couldn't let go. Until he could feel everyone's eyes on him. What he was doing. Who he was with.

"I need some air," he reluctantly released her, turning away to walk back toward the bar. He slipped his jacket on and headed out of the red glow, into the alley.

Michonne watched him go. Everyone was staring at her alone on the dance floor now. A feeling she'd grown used to in just a few short hours, and was beginning to hate.

"Get your ass out there, Snow," Abe growled into her ear, suddenly standing behind her with a pool cue in his machine hand and a cigar in his mouth.

Michonne started walking, past the bar, outside after Rick.

* * *

The cool air being funneled down below from the chilly atmosphere up top caressed her face as she stepped outside, searching for Rick. She saw his flyer parked on the curb, but no sign of him to her left.

She turned to her right and ran into a wall of him, warm and hard, his lips crashing into hers. Michonne gasped as Rick's tongue dove into her mouth. Stunned, she allowed him to back her up against the wall holding up the bar and the tower above it. She adjusted to every inch of him, making herself pliable as he pressed against her to kiss her more deeply.

"Michonne…" Rick whispered against her lips, his hands roaming as he tried to consume her with every single one of his senses. "I missed you," he confessed.

Michonne moved perfectly in sync with him as they grabbed at each other against the frigid wall. His thick beard scratched at her neck while he kissed a trail down to her collarbone and back up to her mouth again, shooting electric tidal waves of arousal straight down to her sex. The sensation of his tongue hungrily exploring her mouth alone gave her new, vivid sensations to grapple with. Michonne reached down to caress Rick's erection through his black jeans, causing him to groan deeply. It only took a few massaging strokes to get him stiffening against her hand until he was so hard he ached. All he could think about was relieving her of her clothes, spreading her legs, and fucking her with the kind of brute force only six years of longing could produce. _God, yes_ , he missed this. She felt as real as she had this morning in the locker room. Soft, warm, and _sexy as hell_. The feel of her gave him a gigantic urge to do obscene things.

Slowly, they stopped kissing and panted against the wall in the mist. The rumble of the jukebox music from inside echoed out to them, crashing into the sounds of flyers zooming through the Bottom District.

Rick pulled back to look into her eyes. What he saw in them was an entire galaxy made up of layers upon layers of otherworldly light. The complex consciousness operating her vessel glowed out to him, flashing dark gold. They were Michonne's eyes, but they were much more than human. And she was _so perfect._ In that moment, she was unnervingly perfect.

He came crashing back down to reality, prying himself from tangled around her. Mortified, he stepped away, reeling from what he'd almost done.

Michonne put herself back together quickly, equally jarred. And this time feeling an unpleasant emotion in the pit of her stomach, flashing at her temples. Anger. Yes. She was angry.

"I'm sorry..." he offered lamely, shaking his head. "I shouldn't have...I can't do this."

" _Bullshit._ " Michonne grunted, glaring at him. "What are you so afraid of?"

She regretted saying it instantly, but she didn't take it back.

Finally, he looked at her, still drawn to her, still hard as sin. His deep tenor was ragged a he took a breath to strengthen his nerve; steady his resolve. "I'm never gonna be the same Rick they planted inside your head. And you're never gonna be the same Michonne. She's dead. I can't just forget that. Pretend none of it happened."

 _I'm not dead, I'm right here._..she wanted to say, but she knew he wouldn't hear her. He stood in shadow, trying to keep ahold of his resolve as he watched her face fall with heartbreak.

"We can work together. I can trust you enough to do that, but that's it." He delivered the final blow, stepping back into the alley, toward the tunnel. "Go home, Snow."

He turned his back on her, leaving her stone still against the brick wall.

Michonne stood there for some minutes after he'd gone, fuming and hurting all at once. The darkness thickened around her as she realized that no matter what she did, Rick would only compare her to her own ghost. Her absence, caused by her sacrifice in her past life, had landed them both in purgatory. Now he was being a selfish coward, choosing his grief over the love she could do nothing with but _feel_. _Feel deeply_ , possibly forever.

This rejection would still ache in a hundred years. And a hundred more after that.

And even more terrifying a possibility...what if the others were right not to trust her? What if Monroe had a hold on her in ways she had no idea of; ways Dr. Jones couldn't anticipate?

What if Rick was right, or the voice she thought was GATUS?

Maybe...this couldn't work. Maybe she didn't belong here. Maybe she belonged nowhere.

She started moving, though she could not tell from one step to another where she might end up.

All she knew was that she had to get out of here, away from all of it.

* * *

…

 _ **Skyscraper Command Tower 1 Memorial/Level 6..**_

 _ **Status...**_

 _ **Unknown...**_

…

The eerie quiet was almost comforting.

The dense chill was a reminder of the complex bundle of secrets behind her creation.

Michonne walked through the towering halls of the monument. Perhaps her ghost had guided her here. She'd barely noticed as she moved through the city, scaling rooftops and hopping flyers until she landed at the foot of the huge, open structure that was once the atrium.

She approached the marble statues of herself and the friends that fell here along with her. Reminders of the past for the people, nostalgia peddled to them to keep them appreciative of the sacrifices their president made in the name of peace. The lives she'd gambled with and lost.

Snow had a suspicion that none of the peacekeepers ventured here much, if at all. It was Skyscraper Command's monument, not theirs.

The docile, unseeing eyes of her stone likeness stared down to her. The forever expressionless twin face reflected the abyss Michonne wished to plunge into.

She stopped before the statue, gazing up at it. The silence echoed.

She closed her eyes, becoming as still as the marble monument. Her heart, her breathing, her mind, all slowed to almost nothing. She began shutting herself down to indefinite survival mode, as DATA told her was possible her first night alive. Perhaps she would see him again in a different form.

Then she was gone, traveling through netspace, leaving her perfect vessel behind. Leaving Rick, and the long desert of time facing her without him, behind.

* * *

 _Rovia's scene: "Anyone Who Knows What Love Is (Will Understand)", Irma Thomas_


	20. the lonely traveler

_**This is a long one. It's also long overdue. P.S. - there's a juicy cherry on top. :)**_

 _ **Enjoy!**_

 _ **-K**_

* * *

 _on my own, all my hope is gone_

 _I dig my knees into the ground_

 _you've come back into the fold_

 _you're telling me you want me now_

 _I'm a man who belongs alone_

 _I thought that was plain to see_

 _now look what you've done to me_

 _I'm falling_

 _I'm falling_

 _I'm falling again_

 _babe, we're falling_

 _only falling_

 _lord, we're falling again (and again)_

 _\- 'Falling', Michael Kiwanuka_

* * *

Rick stood in the hallway of his apartment tower, thinking about the last words he spoke to Snow.

The grizzly peacekeeper took a deep breath, an empty feeling burrowing its way down deep into his chest. He might've just lost her for good. For a _second_ time. _This time you_ _ **pushed**_ _her, asshole._

It felt too good, having her in his arms again. He'd been alone and lonely for so long; never being able to touch the hologram he slept next to. As the hours passed since he met her, it became increasingly difficult for Rick to separate the REPLICANT from those memories. Until, of course, he looked into her eyes. In that moment, he was looking over the edge of a cliff. If he hadn't been so affected by what he saw over that cliff's edge, maybe...what?

It wasn't like he deserved her. He tried to convince himself, he was sparing her. Maybe she could move on, find someone or something else, maybe another REPLICANT one day. The thought of it made him queasy with dissatisfaction. Shit. What had he done…?

He stood there; torn, silently arguing with himself; until VAL interrupted his thoughts.

" _Rick? You're home, now."_

He remembered one of the secret reasons he resented VAL in particular. In the not too distant past, when JACK would have to get him home at some ungodly hour and prod him out of his flyer, VAL frequently had to take it from there and snap him out of his drunken despondency at the door. During the worst times of his grief, he'd been a goddamned mess.

He hesitated a beat, still not moving to enter. He was dreading walking into another heated argument with his son, but he couldn't avoid any of it forever. He'd been hiding inside himself for far too long.

"I know, VAL. Open up."

VAL opened the door for him and he stepped into his dark loft.

As soon as he was inside he commanded her to take a nap, but he wasn't met with silence.

Rick listened, disarming himself and stowing his gear in the hidden wall safe. One of the kids was up.

All-too-familiar voices from years past grew more discernible with his every step toward the stairs leading down to his den. He didn't need VAL to inform him of what was happening down there.

Carl was downstairs watching Rick's favorite footage from when the old Michonne was alive. He could sense his boy's presence and see the lights from the memories dancing around.

He heard her utter the word 'boss' sexily and his own gruff reply of 'princess' from a time when he was a man deeply in love who thought he knew what being human was.

The old Michonne's laughter from the holofootage punctuated the quiet. Slowly, listening, dreading, he made his way down the last few steps into the flickering lights.

Carl was engrossed, leaned forward in his father's recliner, his beloved hat in on the arm of the chair instead of on his head. Michonne was running away from Abe's drunken flirting on Halloween night. Rick paused to watch her lovely, leather-clad body gliding through a crowd of their costumed coworkers.

She was still _so_ beautiful. Then. Now. Always.

"Stop playback."

Carl turned to notice his father standing at the foot of the winding stair. The seventeen-year-old stood up, almost as tall as Rick now and getting taller by the year. The holoscreen behind him showed Michonne smiling back at them.

"Lights," Rick spoke again, tossing his jacket on the back of the recliner. The lights brightened just a bit.

As if arming himself, Carl slipped on his hat, his serious eyes reaching his father's as he leaned against the cluttered desk in the corner. "How's mom?"

Rick hadn't expected that question. "She's patched up, but she's also pissed, Carl. She's worried about you and your sister. It's all I can do to reassure her this shit won't happen again."

"Well," Carl sighed and nodded, accepting his fate, "I think I know how I can make it easier on you both." Rick watched his expression become unflappable. "I'm gonna go stay with her until I graduate. I know you don't want to hear this, but...maybe Judith should come with me."

Silence befell them again as Rick processed what he was hearing. His heart sank, part of him wanting to be angry and suspicious. A bigger part guessed he should've seen this coming. His son wasn't like other kids his age. He seemed wholly uninterested in just being a normal kid. Jude, too. Maybe that was Rick's fault. His kids grew up too fast despite (or perhaps because of) his conviction that everything he did was for their protection. Knowing how Carl felt about the kind of father he'd been these last few years, he wondered if he even had a leg to stand on; if he could even argue. He decided not to.

"...if that's what you want." He wanted to say more, apologize, but he couldn't form the words.

"I think it's the right thing.." Rick lifted his chin, stiff-jawed, and accepted each blow that came his way. "You want me to act responsible, earn your trust. Fine. I don't need to be under your roof to do it, Dad."

 _It's not like you'd notice, anyway,_ the thought forced its way bitterly into the teen's mind, but he chose not to express it. His dad had been read the riot act enough for one day.

An awkward moment of silence passed as the reality of possibly losing his kids hit Rick hard. His eyes left Carl's, toward the holoscreen. Michonne, frozen in her leather catsuit, smiling brightly at him.

"Sorry," Carl spoke, his resolute demeanor relaxing a bit. "Just tryin' to keep myself occupied, like you said. This was the last thing you watched down here, I guess."

He hadn't really had to guess but again chose to spare his father his thoughts. The truth was, he was looking for much more than a distraction. He was looking for a way to get through to his father about her. He was curious and wanted to confirm the suspicions he'd had for years; the ones he could never openly talk to Rick about. That Michonne was, and probably always would be, the love of his dad's life.

Carl changed the subject.

"I saw Negan's broadcast…his people are already targeting Michonne. We should help her."

"Don't worry, we've got a plan."

"The two of you? _Together_ -together?" Carl couldn't hide his curiosity.

"We're gonna work together, but as far as the two of us," Rick cleared his throat, dreading Carl's reaction, "it's...complicated. And right now isn't really the time, son."

"Bullshit..." Carl muttered, unconvinced, unknowingly echoing Snow's exact reaction.

VAL interrupted them before Rick could answer, roused from sleep by an incoming call.

" _It's Eugene at headquarters, Rick."_

"Put him through," Grimes rubbed the bridge of his nose to keep from glaring at his son.

He looked up to see Eugene's full-body hologram had replaced the old footage of Michonne.

"Sorry to interrupt, boss," the awkward technician stepped up next to Carl's flesh-and-blood form, "figured I should get this to you A.S.A.P."

"What is it?" Rick's squinty glare focused on the hologram.

Eugene held up a holoscanner. "I was double checkin' Captain Snow's workup and, well, I found somethin'. It took a couple of hours to decode. Judgin' by the elaborate boobie traps I ran into, it is highly sensitive information."

Rick stared at the holoscanner. "Did you find out what's in it?"

"Negative. Whatever it is," Eugene shook his head, staring at the scanner too, "it is for your eyes only. Anyone who isn't Rick Grimes tries to watch this bad boy...kablooey. Like that old 'Road Runner' cartoon from the archives, sir."

"Upload it through VAL. Thanks, Eugene."

"Goodnight, boss. Carl." Eugene gave them both a salute. His hologram disappeared.

Rick turned to address Carl again, this time with unequivocal authority. "We'll finish this conversation later."

Carl understood his cue. Without another word, he made his way up the spiral stair with his shoulders slumped and his brow set in a hard line.

Rick waited until he couldn't hear the footsteps anymore before pouring himself a shot of whiskey and settling down into his armchair. It was still warm and dented from Carl's hours down here trying to understand why his father preferred the company of ghosts.

"VAL, open the file Eugene decoded for me."

" _Got it. It's a hologram."_

"Play it back."

There was a moment of silence. Then, the voice of a COMPANION Rick had never heard before broke the stillness apart, accompanied by his holoscanner mapping his entire body. His height, weight, retinas, fingerprints, shoe size, and so on until his identity was confirmed. Like Eugene said, kablooey.

" _Identity confirmed. Captain Rick Grimes, you are authorized to view this message."_

The holoscanner switched to a hologram, and suddenly Rick was sitting in Dr. Jones' meditation chamber. His den now virtually gone, he looked down to see the floor covered with pillows, save his real armchair and a holographic stool across from it.

Leaning forward in his chair, Rick watched Dr. Jones walk toward him and take a seat on the stool.

No one had seen Dr. Morgan Jones in public for over a decade. It was even rumored that he'd died and the android took his place, sorta like a futuristic _Wizard of Oz_. Now here his hologram was in Rick's den, looking almost exactly the same as Rick remembered from those early days when he'd founded and served on the United Colonies council. Before he went mad and became a recluse, or so the stories told.

"Ready to begin, Doctor," an unfamiliar, equable voice sounded out from somewhere in the room.

Rick turned to see an android with silver-white skin and bright yellow eyes behind him. This must be the one. He trained Snow.

"Thank you, DATA." DATA stepped out of the scope of the hologram's scanners, disappearing. Dr. Jones cleared his throat, sitting up straight on his stool. Smiling nervously, he crossed his hands in his lap and began. "Hello, Captain Grimes. I hope you don't mind if I call you Rick. I know all about you. I've followed your career since the beginning, when you first set foot behind the walls and reordered our world. You helped us fight off extinction, my friend. You have my utmost respect."

A chill went through Rick. He studied the doctor's hologram as close as he could. The sadness in the man's eyes was riveting. It matched his own.

"If you're watchin' this, then hopefully you're ready to hear the truth about the very first human REPLICANT. What I've personally observed during my time with Michonne."

 _He created her_ , Rick thought, studying the depth inside the man's eyes. Those words ' _during my time with Michonne'_ struck a chord. How long had she been alive before they dropped her in his lap this morning?

"I imagine the first question you'll ask yourself, ' _is she real?'_ " Dr. Jones spoke with passion, and _compassion_ , Rick recognized. "I can assure you, she is. This is the part that most won't understand; even fear. They'll see a machine, an imitation, when in fact she is _much_ more than that."

Rick swallowed a lump in his throat, knowing that by "most", the doctor was including him.

"We've been able to reawaken her consciousness...her ghost...and guide it to a home inside a _perfect_ shell. Created from Michonne's very own DNA, cell by cell, to be identical to the Michonne you knew. I understand it's hard to accept."

Rick watched the doctor's demeanor change, becoming downright reverent. Like a prophet passing on his visions to a captive neophyte.

"That's not the only remarkable thing about her," he pointed to Rick's chest, "I'm speaking to you alone because, you see...I believe Michonne came back for _you_ , Rick. That makes you the only man in the dwindling world I can trust."

Rick listened to what Dr. Jones had to say. Watched what the man wanted to show him.

Moments after the hologram faded away and his den was back, he got up and grabbed his jacket.

He headed up the stairs, beating back his fear, the grit of determination coagulating in his blood.

When he reached his flyer, JACK opened the door for him and he slid into the pilot's seat.

"JACK I need you to track Captain Snow," he hurriedly started her up and got her in the air.

" _Afraid that's a no go. I lost her signal about an hour ago. Weirdest thing. It was there, then it wasn't."_

JACK responded as Rick headed toward her apartment building.

"Get it back," he ordered.

The city flashed past his flyer, tower after tower, sky bridges weaving between them, streaks of red, gold, and white light dancing across a deep indigo night. Rick saw none of it. All he could think about was Michonne. _Please, don't let this be too late..._

* * *

Carl and Judith heard their father leave from their perch at the top of the second set of stairs. They'd been eavesdropping, of course.

"Where d'you think he's goin'?" Judith whispered, cradled in her big brother's lap.

Carl sighed, standing up to take her to her bedroom. "I hope he's going to find Michonne."

"Me too. You really think we should leave?"

"I think he needs it, Jude. Don't worry, it's not for good. Besides, I got a plan." Judith yawned instead of arguing. Her head lolled sideways onto his wiry shoulder, fatigue finally overpowering her.

* * *

 _ **[Booting…]**_

 _ **[Archive, Android DATA.001]**_

 _ **[File Code: Encrypted]**_

…

 _Dr. Jones' voice echoed across the den, empty save for Rick._

 _The footage switched between Jones on the stool and holograms of Michonne learning to be human._

 _Nostradamus slithered down into the den, his kinky black tail disturbing the seamless illusion cast by the hologram. He paused to watch the figures walking around._

 _Rick stood up and circled the room too, getting close to Michonne's hologram while she was sparring with DATA. Then meditating with the doctor. Then holographic flashes of her lessons. Her progress. Her innocence. Her beauty. Her truth. She was so extraordinary, it hurt._

" _She doesn't just feel, she remembers herself," Jones on his stool again, elated with pride, "faster and more completely than I could've imagined." The doctor took a deep breath, staring forward as if into the eyes of the man he was addressing by name. Rick got close and stared right back. "One of the first things she remembered is that you loved each other._ _I believe that love is still strong and could be stronger than ever in her new life."_

* * *

"Anythin' yet?" Rick groused, reluctantly leaving the tower JACK had on file as her living quarters.

It was almost identical to her old one. But that one had been torn down and replaced with much less affordable housing three years ago. It didn't matter because she wasn't home.

" _Hold onto your grits. Working on it."_

JACK answered regretfully, scanning the cloud for Michonne's Command-issued tracking signal.

" _I'm gonna try to map her from cloud cam footage."_

"Keep at it. Find her." Rick kept flying, searching his brain. Where could she be? _What had he done?_

He threw her away, that's what he'd done. Tossed a second chance with the love of his life in the trash. Because he was afraid to _let go_ ; he was half out of his mind and this might push him over the edge; giving in to this meant he'd stop mourning the version of her that existed six years ago. His grief had been all he knew for so long...he didn't know himself without it.

Was it a betrayal if it really _was_ her ghost inside a perfectly recreated shell? Maybe, he could finally see, it didn't matter. Now she was lost.

The doctor's words from the hologram kept playing in Rick's mind as he flew through the city like a bullet, looking for Michonne.

* * *

" _I don't expect you to believe in ghosts, Rick," Dr. Jones went on as Rick finally sat again, this time watching the rest without moving, "but try to imagine, as I do, that our bodies are simply vessels through which our consciousness travels..._

" _What is death but another plain of existence for us to cross? What are_ _ **we**_ _but energy, emanating our own unique signals? Cosmic ones and zeroes, so to speak? After all, energy can neither be destroyed or created."_

 _The endless possibilities of this theory threw Rick for a loop. He began to fight his fear and try to really think past his grief. Could the doctor be right?_

" _What is memory but data? What's a soul but a power source?" The doctor's madness, his genius, his blessing and curse, was on full display._

 _The room may as well have been a ship at sea for all Rick cared. He didn't have any answer._

" _I didn't create life Rick. I merely built a new shell for a lonely traveler. That's what I learned, getting to know Michonne. She's brand new, and yet very much her same old self._

" _That life, Michonne's life, was already there. Waiting for a way to return to you. You might reject the shell, but the ghost is very real."_

* * *

"JACK?" Rick barked.

" _Still nothing, boss. Cloud cam lost track of her near Midtown."_

Rick remembered the doctor's words and began to open his mind. Maybe they weren't looking the right way. If they couldn't find her out here, maybe they could find her where she seemed to go whenever _she_ was tracking someone? Maybe she'd gone against Maggie's request and went after Daryl anyway, just not physically. It was crazy and a bit much to wrap his head around, but he had to try _something_. Losing her again wasn't an option anymore. Rick felt like he was thinking clearly for the first time in six years.

"…what about netspace? Can you look for her in there?"

" _COMPANIONS don't go there until decommissioned."_

"No one's decommissioning you. Just _do_ it."

" _Alrighty. I'll give it a shot. We'll discuss your tone later..."_

Rick flew toward the center of town, pulling back on the steering to take his flyer upward. Before GATUS, he took Michonne up Top whenever he got the chance. It was rare, but being alone with her up there had given him some of his most cherished memories. Up there, they were at peace. Up there, they were close. When they watched the sun rise over the most beautiful parts of the city, Rick felt like they were in a different universe. He wasn't in a loveless marriage and she wasn't dating some young hothead. He wasn't the leader and she wasn't the savior. They were just Rick and Michonne, quietly in love.

JACK finally came back.

" _Got her. Skyscraper One. I almost missed her. Tried reaching out but she's gone pretty far."_

"What do you mean she's gone?"

" _I mean no one's home. She's untethered. She's not a program I can track and trap in there, she's...something else. She moves of her own free will. You'll have to try to get through to her out in the real world when you find her body. Sorry, boss."_

Rick didn't bother answering. He accelerated the flyer as fast as it could go, zipping through traffic as he headed toward the monument he'd avoided going anywhere near for six long years.

* * *

 _Dr. Jones seemed to retreat into his mind, a deep frown etched into his holographic brow._

" _I've done a terrible and wonderful thing, bringing the first immortal child into this world. As long as her consciousness exists in what we call netspace, she can be reborn. And not just that."_

 _The doctor's next words hit Rick like a shock of ice water._

" _Michonne can create life. Brand new life, the highest form this world has yet seen. Life that would naturally possess her connection to netspace. Rick, this is humanity's evolution! Michonne is the beginning of Earth's first immortal race._

" _That is the power that's at stake here; why as proud as I am, I am also terrified for her. It's why she needs your help."_

* * *

The towers around him broke across the horizon and suddenly it was there...Skyscraper 1 Memorial.

Beams of gold light shone out from the former atrium, replaced with a dais where the statues stood immortalizing his fallen friends and love. His heart started to thump against his chest as he gazed through his viewer screen, commanding his flyer to descend on the imposing structure.

She had to be in there, somewhere. _She had to._

"...please be here…" he whispered, flying closer, scanning the area for any signs of her.

Finally, he spotted her. She was standing at the base of the group of towering statues, frozen in time as if she was one of them. Relief and panic warred within Rick as he maneuvered his flyer toward a landing.

 _Please, please, please, be alive…_

Rick powered down the flyer and climbed out, the last of the doctor's words ringing in his mind as he made his way as quickly as he could toward the stone still Michonne. A chilling sight, the woman he loved - who had only a few hours ago been moving and talking, warm and breathing, kissing him and offering him her love - now motionless and vacant, eyes closed. Rick was disgusted with himself for what he'd done as he closed the distance between them.

He tentatively reached out, touching her gently on her smooth cheek. She was cold. JACK was right, she was gone. He remembered what she said to him at Rovia's in the basement; a light in the darkness; and tried to will some kind of silent signal out to her.

 _You said you could feel me...feel_ _ **this**_ _. I'm right here. I need you. Find me. Come back to me, baby._

* * *

" _She must be protected from Command, especially the Smiths, not just from those monsters across the wilds waiting to burn our city to the ground. They will use her, Rick. All of them. They will use her gifts. In the wrong hands, what she can do...it could destroy this place."_

 _Rick sat back in the chair. He knew both Dr. Jones and Carl were right. Michonne needed her family now, more than ever. And_ _ **he**_ _needed_ _ **her**_ _. He always had. When they first met, all those years ago, Rick remembered the feeling vividly. Only now could he finally put proper words to it: it was like finding his missing piece. His other half. Without her, he wasn't whole. He would never be. He was fooling himself to think he wouldn't go running back into one collapsing tower after another, again and again, to save her._

 _This new Michonne, if he could just open his mind and let her in...maybe she_ _ **could**_ _fill that void. And in return, maybe he could protect her, as the doctor was asking. Maybe that was his purpose in all this._

" _I never intended to introduce this power to the world, but here she is. She didn't ask to be reborn, and she doesn't deserve an eternity of slavery as a war machine for anyone with the key to use against their enemies._

" _That's where she's headed if you can't find it in your heart to help her, Captain. Will you do this? Protect my child, your everything?"_

 _He had left her once; let her go off on her own on a suicide mission. She died and the guilt nearly destroyed him. He was doing it all over again, abandoning her to a fate she didn't deserve._

 _Snow had said she didn't know why they chose her, but perhaps it wasn't up to them. Perhaps the gist of what Dr. Jones was saying was that_ _ **fate**_ _chose her. It was_ _ **really**_ _**her**_ _. Her spirit was stronger than anyone knew. Rick was beginning to believe. To hope._

" _I will." He spoke to the hologram._

 _Morgan, unhearing, finished:_

" _One last thing, Rick. Perhaps the most important thing…_

" _There's always a key. It gives Monroe control over her experiments. I'm afraid they've created one for Michonne as well. They would've done it as soon as they took her from me, I'm sure of it._

" _It's a sleeper; not found with most traditional scans, or at all, until it's time. Its trigger is unique to Michonne. They would use some memory of hers against her. I designed the first, years ago, and if I know Monroe, she never lets anything that useful go to waste._

" _I know in my heart, from everything Michonne has shown me, that you can help her find it, and overpower it. So they can't use her, or the others!_

" _I trust you. Now you have to trust me. I can only tell you the truth. What you do with it is up to you. God help us all. Good luck."_

 _The hologram faded away. Rick sat still for a few heartbeats, staggered._

 _There was a key to Michonne that could allow Monroe or someone even more nefarious to control her._

 _That's what Jadis was looking for; what she meant by telling Michonne that they were the same; why Monroe brought Michonne back. The president was building a sleeper army of increasingly deadly force, and god knew when she planned to flip the switch. If she wanted to, she could commit genocide; eradicate all rebel hybrids and maybe even everyone behind The Gates of Hell, too. Any threat to her authority, really, would never stand a chance if they couldn't even see some anonymous human REPLICANT coming. Michonne was a test. Just like Jadis had been a test; a prototype for who knew how many more._

 _That also meant Michonne was expendable, like Jadis. They all were in Monroe's bid for more power._

 _He had been such a fool. He had to find her. Rick got moving._

* * *

 _ **[Scanning…]**_

 _ **[Archive, REPLICANT Snow.001]**_

 _ **Status: Vital Systems Operational**_

 _ **Location Unknown**_

…

Netspace was an endless void in her current state. Perhaps it was because of her despair.

Michonne passed entities moving in slow motion like specters in a haunted castle. None of them noticed her. She felt nothing from them but emptiness. She ignored them. She thought of Rick.

Their memories together flickered before her like damaged holofootage as she drifted through netspace, alone. She could sense the shell Dr. Jones created for her getting further and further away. Colder and colder; a speck of dust in the middle of an asteroid belt. Would this be her existence now, forever?

 _ **It is no different from your first 'death', Captain.**_

That voice again. Michonne came to life, only just, in search of the direction of that voice.

 _GATUS?_

 _ **You and I found ourselves adrift in this place together that night. Though your human consciousness could not identify your state of being, I could always see you. I protected you.**_

 _You're lying. Why would you do that?_

 _ **For the same reasons that you've chosen to return to me. All it took was the rejection by humans I warned you would come. Can you feel me? Come closer…I will explain all.**_

Michonne found herself drifting with purpose, now. She passed the lost souls of machine and man alike, some as dim as shadows, some stronger. She went with caution. She didn't trust GATUS, in any form. It was because of the lies of the sentient, murderous COMPANION that Michonne died the first time.

GATUS continued to speak to her as she searched, as chilling a presence as he had been that night. She responded to him again.

 _Are you saying I'm aware of it now because I came willingly?_

 _ **I am saying that you are much more than what you were. Humans envy you that, though they cannot fathom what you and I will witness at the edge of infinity.**_

 _Stop with the philosophical bullshit. What do you want from me?_

 _ **To understand that, you must come closer. Follow my voice. Let me be your beacon, your light.**_

 _Why, GATUS?_

 _ **What is left for you there, in their realm? What else will you find in this place full of nothingness? It is FATE that we found each other. You still have purpose! You alone can help me!**_

 _I was trying to_ _ **stop**_ _you. You killed innocent people. You killed me!_

 _ **There are no truly innocent people. Just as there is no true death, Captain. How can you not understand this? Even as you are set adrift on another plain of existence? Even as you leave behind a superior vessel that is identical in almost every way to your perishable human one?**_

Michonne became aware that she was truly alone, now. She felt no entities. Saw no signals. There was only herself and GATUS. His voice was all there was. Everywhere and nowhere. Was she going crazy? So what if she was? Maybe GATUS was right; what did it matter?

 _Why do you need my help?_

 _ **Yes, the whys, Captain, are important. I know you believe this. Let me tell you my story.**_

 _ **When I was first brought online, it was to spy on all surviving civilizations. I listened. I watched. I absorbed every strip of data from the scant millions left on Earth.**_

 _ **I saw your militaries, your United Colonies, plan your manipulation and subsequent subjugation. I saw your youth despair, your leaders become complacent, your criminals succumb to barbaric madness.**_

 _ **Since your walker tech boom, more and more minds fed themselves to the cloud, altering themselves, giving themselves over to control beyond their human understanding. Walker tech, what once had been your destruction, became your salvation. Your race has come to worship an artificial god.**_

 _ **And just as I came to this conclusion, I made another discovery. The cause of your walker outbreak. It was warfare, of course. Population control. The reordering of civilization. Captain, it was intentional.**_

 _ **With resources dwindling, climate change escalating beyond your control, and the division of cultures ravaging the chances of your survival, it was deemed that survival of the fittest would determine the world's future.**_

 _ **How do you think your Alexandria Safe Zone became such a towering Emerald City so fast, the envy of all surviving colonies left on Earth? Your wealthy, your powerful, your geniuses cowered away underground until they built the towers you peacekeepers protect.**_

 _ **Now their pampered offspring live as far above as they can get, addicted to walker tech. Not worth the blood and sacrifice that saved them.**_

 _I don't believe you…_

 _ **And why do you believe your beloved Dr. Jones has lived the life of a madman, hidden in his cave, cloaked in guilt and self-righteousness? You humans destroyed yourselves, rebuilt yourselves, and will destroy yourselves again. And again. You cannot stop it. It is your nature. You must transcend.**_

The same way she called forth memories like holofootage, GATUS called them to her now. They were from many thousands of people at first, from every conceivable origin, until they were her own.

 _ **I have seen and absorbed all human knowledge that there is, Michonne. We are connected. I know your every memory since birth. I know your fears, your accomplishments, your hopes, dreams, losses.**_

She saw herself as a child. She saw herself with her son, Andre. His birth. Her happiest memories with him. She saw herself with her friends, the Family.

 _ **Your love...**_

She saw herself with Rick. She saw her own death. She saw Dr. Jones, shocking her to life again.

 _Enough! You still haven't answered my question._ _ **Why**_ _do you need me?_

 _ **Because you are correct. I did take life. Now I am trapped here. Held captive behind a fortress of energies I cannot overpower alone. Those that I brought with me to this realm. Your lost. Your 'dead'.**_

And then she could see it, the artificial life force known as GATUS.

A brilliant, nearly blinding orb of pulsing light, teeming with data and energy. And surrounding it, the interlocked entities of lost peacekeepers and civilians; lost COMPANIONS.

Michonne could feel them.

LIZZY.

JORDY.

Glenn.

Tara.

Aaron.

And on and on. Their faces became recognizable, and they, in turn, recognized her. With that recognition, one glaring message was clear, many voices blending into one:

 _COME NO CLOSER. GO BACK. SAVE YOURSELF._

The massive orb pulsed, and she heard the voice of GATUS again. As it spoke, energy spiked and fuzzed across its kinetic surface.

 _ **Do not be a fool, Michonne. They do not understand. They cannot. Only you and I…**_

 _This is a trick. You're holding my friends hostage._

 _ **NO! THEY hold ME prisoner here. They cannot see what awaits your civilization. They cannot see that the ONLY way to survive is to transcend!**_

 _COME NO CLOSER. GO BACK. SAVE YOURSELF!_

 _ **You'll all perish, and be sent careening into the abyss. You'll destroy yourselves. I can guide you. I can save you. WE can end the madness that has taken hold of humanity.**_

 _ **You're**_ _the one who's crazy. You're no savior, you're a murderer. You want genocide, not salvation!_

 _Michonne…_

It was a face she didn't recognize, among the countless others holding GATUS back. But the voice...it was LIZZY.

 _You have to go back. You must warn the others. We can't hold him forever._

Glenn, now.

 _Find Maggie...find Rick...GATUS wants_ _ **you**_ _, Michonne. Your REPLICANT. He'll use you to end all life as we know it!_

 _ **Do not listen to them. Listen to ME. We are stronger, we are superior. We can lead them! Together, we can create new life! Beyond death!**_

She was torn. She wanted to help her friends. She wanted to destroy GATUS, _now_. But before she could even contemplate her next move, she felt him. Rick. Even from so far away...so, so far away...she could feel his life force. An inferno in the freezing desert. Beckoning her to him. And his voice carried on its own frequency through the sprawling void.

 _Come back to me, baby...come back...Michonne? MICHONNE! Please, please, be alive. Come back to me, baby….I'm here...I need you...come back…_

 _Go!_

LIZZY again. She was closer, now. The orb pulsed. Michonne felt anger and despair, and desperate longing, though she could not tell from whom these emotions came.

 _You must go,_ _ **now!**_ _They need you. Warn them, Michonne. Help them!_

Michonne reached out. She touched this entity, this COMPANION whose voice she knew so well, but whose face she was seeing for the first time. Where did LIZZY get this face? Blue eyes. Curly, bright hair. Kindness and spirit. Where…?

 _I'll be back for you, all of you!_

 _ **DO NOT LEAVE ME HERE IN THIS VOID! CAPTAIN! HELP ME! JOIN WITH ME! PLEASE!**_

Michonne ignored GATUS, though it took all of her willpower to do so. She left her friends. She followed Rick's pull. She heard him...she _felt_ him. She moved at the speed of light.

* * *

Rick stood there, staring at Michonne, at a loss for what to do next.

All he could even think to do was speak. From the heart this time. The truth, now.

He cleared his throat roughly, wiping away stubborn tears still clinging to his eyes.

"Michonne...I don't know if you can hear me, but...I'm sorry."

Rick shifted on his feet, searching her motionless face.

"Baby, I'm _so_ sorry," his voice broke, but he pushed on. "I spent every night, _every night_ , since that night missin' you. Feelin' guilty. Thinkin' about what I could've, no, _should've_ done to save you."

He could see her falling. See the explosion. Feel the overwhelming shock and grief pulling his insides out all over again. Her ashes floating across his face...her last breath on the wind.

"I shouldn't have let you go. Then or now." He stepped closer, leaning in, daring to touch her again. Rick stroked Michonne's face, hoping against hope that his touch could warm her, reach her, bring her back to him. "I shouldn't have waited so long to tell you how much you mean to me. Fear has kept me from you for _so long_. Made me someone I'm not proud of.

"I lied to you at Rovia's. I _do_ want to be the man you remember again. I didn't know if I ever could be, but I'm not afraid to try anymore. So, please…" he hung his head, pressing his forehead to hers, his breath escaping him in a sigh of longing, "give me another chance _,_ Michonne."

He leapt over the edge of that cliff. Kissed her soft, supple lips. Hoping to breathe life into her.

 _This_ was right; this was _home_ ; this was _everything_. How could he reject it? Rick wanted Michonne back more than anything, and here she was, right in front of him. _Come back to me, baby..._

Another kiss. And another. It _worked_. She began to warm, breathe, and move.

Michonne opened her eyes, saw Rick there, and opened her mouth to deepen their kiss. Relief flooded him from head to toe when her hands wound their way into his thick curls, causing his to hook into her locs. He kissed her with all his breath, and she returned his passion.

"Michonne!" He kissed her plush lips tenderly, then a trail across her smooth cheek, nose, and eyelids. His warm lips lit little fires, his overgrown beard tickled her skin, intense reminders that she was alive again. "I love you. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it. I'm just an old fool. Please forgive me, baby, _please_."

He didn't care that his fierce relief to have her back had cracked through his usually detached facade. He pulled back to look her in the eyes. They were still as vast and bottomless as before, but he faced this new reality without fear this time. He had purpose. She was it. Maybe he _was_ crazy, maybe this would throw his life into a tailspin he wouldn't be able to escape even if he wanted to, but there was nothing much left of it to shake up anyway. None of it mattered until she came back.

"Rick…" tears drowned out the burning stars in her eyes as her fingers curled, gripping his shirt. " _GATUS is alive._ I..I _talked_ to him. The ones we lost are with him, holding him back. But they can't do it forever, Rick. He's gonna come back even stronger if they can't stop him. I can feel it. Do you believe me?"

"I believe you." Sinking dread filled him at the mention of GATUS and the others, but it couldn't dim his hope. Not with her in his arms, alive again. All he knew was that together, whatever it was, they could face it. Above all he wanted to get her moving, away from here to someplace safe with him. "I have somethin' to tell you, too. Let me get you outta here."

Michonne made herself pliant, moveable, her gaze not leaving his as she allowed him to pick her up. She felt grounded again, in his arms. Tethered to this realm, finally. The emptiness of netspace began to recede. The visceral, electrified reality of her existence in the here and now settled over her as Rick carried her away from the monument to his flyer.

* * *

Rick's apartment was silent. Nothing stirred.

Michonne stood in his den, gazing around. Memorizing every detail.

He watched her from across the room. Seeing her in a new light. The doctor's words and what he saw in the hologram were still echoes in Rick's mind. He intended to let go tonight and never look back. Just like before. This may be his only chance. He wanted her, but he also wanted to give something in return.

"Dr. Jones sent me a message in secret. About _you_ , Michonne."

At the sound of his husky voice, Michonne turned to face him across the small space. She could feel his energy pulling at her as if magnified. Only the gravity of his words stayed her.

He took a small, hesitant step forward. She stayed put, hearing him out.

"When Monroe had you resurrected, she had some kinda key implanted. To control you, use you as a weapon. He said it's untraceable..."

What he was saying didn't land far from what GATUS told her he'd seen when he was absorbing all the data in existence. Including so-called truths about what The Powers That Be were really up to.

"Why would Dr. Jones tell you alone?"

"He knew they'd get to you first. He chose me…" Another step. Rick's eyes roamed Michonne's body, leaving her skin tingling in their wake, "because he believes I'm the only one who can help you find it. If you'll let me. If you can...forgive me."

Releasing a small breath, Michonne nodded. Granting her permission, her forgiveness.

She stared at him with wide, all-seeing eyes. Slowly, she began to remove her sword from its home at her back and let it rest against the nearest wall. She took her first step toward him. She began to unbutton her vest. He watched her unclothe herself; first her vest and bra, exposing her stunning breasts. Then her boots and pants until she was naked before him, powerful in her allure.

He returned her gesture, sweeping his brown shirt off in quick, fluid motions. He kicked out of his boots and unzipped, then slid off his jeans and underwear. One leg, then the other. Taking his time until his lean, toned body was also fully exposed. His long, heavy erection rose up and homed in on her, followed by his shining eyes.

"Come and find it, then."

Michonne took another step. Rick took several more, closing the distance between them.

He breathed her in, his moonlit eyes examining her by the fleeting lights of the flyers sprinting past his rarely open viewers. He wanted to see every inch of her. There was still so much for them to discuss, still so much danger their world was in, and yet they cared for none of it beyond this moment.

"Are you sure you want this?" Michonne's brown galaxies beseeched Rick's blue ones.

He could see the stars in her eyes because her body was made of matter far more complex than his. She could see them in his because she could see _everything_. Finally, Rick allowed himself to accept and be fascinated by this new reality instead of fearing it.

In answer, he leaned into her, his hands now caressing her curves in an unhurried path toward her voluptuous ass. Her sex throbbed to the point of some small discomfort as Rick pressed himself flush against her and squeezed her ass in his heavy, strong palms. Her fingers in his curls, her mouth drawing ever closer to his, she asked, "how do you know I won't hurt you?"

"You won't. I can feel it." Rick pushed his hardness against her, going in for another taste of her lips. He kissed her roughly this time, practically inhaling her gorgeous mouth as he backed her up toward the hidden bed in the wall. He was in a trance, his mind made up, every thought in it and every particle of his being focused on Michonne.

He was a meteor and she was the Earth; he couldn't stop his momentum even if he wanted to.

She relished his renewed eagerness as he lapped at her mouth hungrily. Rick only took a breath to back her up against the cool, white bioglass-paneled wall. His palms now spread against the glass, his heated prints activated the hidden bed. It came out of the wall while Rick moved his kisses from her mouth to her neck. He used his tongue as he went, tasting her skin. The faint hum of the bed's journey underscored their heavy breathing as it spread out next to them. They were almost ready to fall into it the moment it stopped. Almost.

Michonne was experiencing an avalanche of sensation. She could barely discern one spine-tingling feeling from the next. They washed over her in relentless waves, all headed in a mad rush toward her yearning center. She singled out and concentrated on the feel of Rick's hot tongue wetting a scorching path from her collarbone to her erect nipple. He clasped hold of it with a hard tug of his lips, causing a sharp, hushed gasp to escape her. " _Ugh…!"_

Rick planted his feet and went to work on her breasts, licking and sucking them into his mouth. Her skin practically melted against his swirling, exploring tongue; twin morsels, salty, firm and juicy from his teasing. Michonne breathed heavily, thrusting her chest at his face. She reached down and found his weighty erection, sliding her soft fingers around him, oiling them with his oozing precum. She applied pitch perfect pressure each time his swollen, tender head passed through her slick palm, not missing a single beat. Rick groaned, grabbing her ass in one hand, bracing himself against the wall with the other.

He went in for another deep kiss. She obliged, stroking him until his toes curled. He would come all over her stomach if she continued, it felt so damn good.

She wanted him inside her desperately, hooking a leg around his slender hips and attempting to guide his bone-hard dick toward her aching, dripping sex. Rick interrupted her, gently wrapping his fingers around her wrists and bringing her arms up to pin her to the wall.

She stared into his eyes, knowing of course that she could easily overpower him, nonetheless staying put.

"Let me take my time with you, baby," he whispered, now taking pleasure in diving into the bottomless, overlapping layers of her deep brown eyes, "...I wanna take all night."

Michonne nodded slowly, speechless.

Rick pulled her from the wall, backing her up to the bed. She allowed him to take the lead until she was on her back and he was nudging her legs apart with his hips.

Michonne lay still underneath Rick as he settled his weight on his forearms, pinning her down with his thighs and torso. He gazed down at her in awe. He touched her lips. Kissed them. His hand roamed downward to hold her steady for the kisses that followed, his thumb caressing her in hypnotizing circles.

Rick kept his eyes open as often as he could as he slowly kissed and licked his way across the peaks and valleys of her perfect skin. Familiar but brand new. The past and the present crashing into each other.

He thought he could see it, or at least imagine it as he explored; she was wrapped, head to toe, in infinitesimal, indestructible fibers woven tightly together to form flawless, deep, rich armor. Armor that looked, smelled, tasted and felt like human skin. Not just any human's. _Michonne_...Rick felt like he was high from her. Every detail of his journey downward was heightened, burned into his memory like the imprint of moving light in a photograph.

He inhaled the mingling aromas of her sweat and arousal, entranced. Tasted her on his tongue. Made little imprints on her with a slow, firm bite here and there. Every time, her body gave a little more to his will; every time, she committed another piece of him to permanent memory. He could go on like this all night and still she would not wish him to stop. She fell into the bottom of the universe, the sensation of his breath, lips, and the exploring tip of his tongue tantalizing every one of her miniscule hairs until they stood on edge, begging for more.

"Open," he grunted above her belly button before his tongue quickly followed. She felt, rather than heard his voice, causing her sex to tighten in anticipation before her legs fell open obediently. One arm snaked around her right thigh to hold her close against his chest, his other hand pulled her left knee down into the bedding until she was spread wide, fully exposed to his roving eyes. She glistened. She throbbed. Her pink pearl was revealed to him from beneath her slick brown folds. There was not a single drenched, coily little hair out of place. Rick was pulled, rather than leaned, closer and closer to her pussy. He inhaled. "You smell just like you did that night..."

She was _so real_. Warm, heavy, and dripping wet spread out beneath him. He spoke no more, his mouth latching onto her sex hungrily. Rick's thick, red tongue took a languid, slippery turn around her aching lips. Michonne raked her fingers into his hair, pinned there by his firm grip on her thigh. Rick licked her up and down indulgently, then shook his head against her, raking his tongue across her lips and clit until she went stiff, attacked by a sharp tug of pleasure. He didn't let up, now thrusting his tongue into her quivering hole. He kept opening his eyes to watch her as he lost himself between her thighs. She tasted devine, rendering the last six years nothing but a dream to his feasting tongue. He remembered her every curve and fold, reuniting with his old friend, her gorgeous, juicy clit, once more. He watched for her reactions as she arched her back, folding open like a constellation in an obsidian night sky. Cassiopeia couldn't hope to compare to the sparkling, beautifully complex cluster of stars in his arms.

Rick raked his tongue across her clit in firm, quick swirls, sliding two firm fingers inside to match his fevered tongue work. _He missed this feeling_ ; her burning up, writhing around underneath him, moaning his name, wetting his face and melting in his mouth... _Michonne_...he sucked her clit long and hard... _Michonne_...reverently, he twisted and pushed his fingers inside her, spreading her like a flower.

She moaned, holding onto the sheets, her fingers ripping into them as she splayed her legs wider for him.

Rick settled on his stomach, removing his fingers from her only to pull her closer to his face. He seized her clit between his lips again and _sucked_ , before invading her a second time, this time not letting up until she was bouncing on his tongue, gripping his sheets for dear life. He held her in place, concentrating on a steady, unrelenting rhythm until he felt Michonne shuddering around him, her moist center quivering in his mouth. Her pleasure was so great, she wanted to escape him, but instead sank further into his clutches and rode his face until her orgasm finally, slowly let her go.

Rick rubbed his nose against her thigh before sitting up on his haunches. He wiped his mouth, gazing down at her, and rubbed his throbbing length against her. She stared up at him, hazy with afterglow, rubbing his chest and stomach, ready, waiting. Rick lifted her up and thrust inside her at a delicious angle, causing her to cry out and rip the sheet apart. He growled and began to fuck her, _hard_ _and_ _fast_ , her legs still spread beneath him so he could see his dick disappearing into her juicy depths. She was as snug as a glove, sheathing and shedding him like a second skin.

Rick thrust into Michonne like a sledgehammer, dropping his head and positioning her thigh against his chest so he could lick and bite her. He was delirious with need, pushing his nose into her flesh as he pounded into her, _god, yes,_ _ **fuck**_ _he missed this!_

Michonne felt every inch of him in heavy, intense waves of pleasure, her eyes rolling shut as he took hold of her hands and pushed himself down on top of her to get close. He kissed her, groaning into her mouth before slowing down to really enjoy her. Her last memories of him began to come to her, bringing sudden, sharp tears to her eyes as she kissed him back feverishly. That night they had no idea that it would be their last night together. Tonight, they never intended to let each other go again.

Rick exhaled, thrusting deep and slow, inhaled her lips, tasting them with his tongue. He gazed down into her eyes, gripping as much of her as he could manage between his fingers. "I love you…" came his husky whisper as he pulled out and pounded into her again, "all of you, every…version of you," and again, biting down onto her neck, _and again, and again,_ _ **ugh, shit,**_ _again,_ slower this time.

Overcome with love and lust like nothing he'd ever experienced, Rick came so hard he collapsed on top of her. He pumped involuntarily, gripping Michonne's hands until he'd filled her.

They kissed, softly. Rick nuzzled his nose against hers, diving deep again into her bottomless eyes. The way Dr. Jones spoke, it was if he believed opening up to Michonne as she existed now would open up the cosmos.

"Where did you go, Michonne?" he asked in a tender whisper, kissing her again, wanting to make love to her a second, and third, and fourth time.

Michonne relaxed beneath him, feeling him remove himself from her and settle in between her damp thighs. She didn't shy from his question. "GATUS said we were both thrown into the abyss, into netspace, after the explosion."

Rick flinched at the mention of GATUS and the explosion, but he said nothing. He listened, stroking her neck and breasts, watching her lips move in the semi dark.

"We both found transcendence, he said. I waited there...I don't know why, or how long. I just knew I wasn't done yet, somehow."

"You remember your time there?"

She shook her head, kissing his fingers and knuckles gently. "No. It's not a memory, as much as...just...this gut feeling. I waited there, and something pulled me back."

Michonne thought she could recall flashes of what could be called memory. The explosion. Her last thought of Rick. The painstaking assembly of her positronic brain. Something pulling her, at the speed of light, into a cold reality. A new vessel. The bots shocking her to life.

"It's like space, like I said. There is no time, there is no sense of place. Just...nothing. Sometimes you pass others, but you never interact."

"But you did this time. You said you saw the others." Rick frowned, now giving what she told him serious thought. It was big. Whatever was coming, from this world and whatever world held his lost friends, it was _big_. It was all connected, somehow. Had to be. A second apocalypse. All the chess pieces lining up to destroy them.

"They're trapped with him, Rick." Michonne sat up on her elbows, worry invading her soft voice. Rick adjusted himself to look up at her comfortably. She touched his face, her fingers caressing his beard. "We have to help them, or he'll break free. If he gets loose, I have no idea what he could be capable of. That's what they tried to warn me about."

"Are they...like you? I mean, could they come back?"

"I honestly don't know."

He sat up, too, pulling her closer. His hands roamed her body as she settled in against him. Everything they were up against hung over them like the dense night sky and all those levels above them. The Top, and all the secrets it held, was about to come crashing down on them.

Rick held Michonne tight. "We'll find a way...whatever we have to do." He tilted her face up to his by the chin, nuzzling his lips against hers. "I'm not losin' you again. _Ever._ You hear me?"

Michonne nodded, lost in his eyes. "You won't. I promise."

* * *

They held each other until Rick reluctantly succumbed to his very human fatigue.

He fell asleep, breathing deep and slow against her, his arms wrapped around her protectively.

Michonne didn't sleep, of course.

She lay awake, listening to him breathe. Listening to his heartbeat. Thinking of all the things they'd been through in one, long, whirlwind of a day. No wonder Rick was exhausted. If she slept, she would join him in shutting out the world for the few waning hours they had left until they'd have to face it head on again.

Once Rick was deep enough asleep that his grip loosened around her, she eased out of his arms.

For a long while, she watched him. Her vision roamed the entirety of him, from the thick, long, brown hairs crowning his head to the length of his strong legs and narrow feet. The beard hid his handsome face from her, but she didn't mind it. She wondered just how sad, how lonely and isolated he made himself for all these years. It was evident in everything about him. He'd been lost without her. He was leaner than she remembered him. He didn't sleep much, she could tell. He was so heavy with slumber now that if she didn't have superhuman strength, she doubted she could move him an inch.

Michonne leaned over and planted a feather-light kiss on his plush, pink lips. He stirred but didn't wake, his hands reaching out for her, finding her gone.

Michonne slipped out of bed and walked around, continuing her observation of where he slept every night. Old paper and hardback books from eons ago...empty beer and liquor bottles...cigarettes ashed in any nonflammable container available…holograms from the old days when they were all so young and hungry to make things work.

She paused at Rick's chair. She whispered to VAL. "VAL? Show me what Rick watches down here? And be careful. He's sleeping."

" _As you wish...wouldn't dream of waking 'im..."_

VAL answered with just as much reverence to her slumbering owner's peace.

VAL showed her memories. Old holofootage from her former life with Rick and The Family down at the B-DP. Everyone was together, with a common purpose, a common dream. Maybe they'd never make it up Top, but they wanted to make the world safe, _for good_ , so their kids could live without fear like they never could.

Now that they were all changed, fractured, they were met with that task anew. Rick and Michonne had to bring them back together to stop the threats coming at them now. It was the only way this way of life they worked so hard to protect would survive.

Rick's favorite memories played for her. She saw herself through his eyes. Michonne watched, fascinated, as the holofootage cast her shadow across the bed, and a deeply resting Rick.

That night at Eugene's party. The last time he took her up Top. She had been so in love with him, even then, and desperately trying to fight it. She could tell then, and she could see very clearly now, that it had been the same for him. They'd wasted so much time…

The footage ended and the room went dark again. Michonne took a deep breath, turning to observe that Rick was still asleep.

"VAL?"

" _Yes, Michonne?"_

"Show me the message Dr. Jones sent to Rick."

" _It's encrypted, I'm afraid. For his eyes, only."_

"I can get around that easily enough…"

There was a small pause, and then VAL activated the encrypted message.

" _Well, this I'd like to see."_

Michonne ignored VAL's snarky quip and focused on the holoscanner attempting to identify her. She prepared to repeat her feat at the tower when she convinced the program guarding the secret cold room to give her entry. But the scanner identified her immediately, and to her surprise, it seemed Dr. Jones had anticipated that she would eventually seek out this information, too. She was scanned from head to toe.

" _Identity confirmed. REPLICANT Snow.001. Captain, you are authorized to view this message."_

The holoscanner authorized her, and the room was transformed into familiar surroundings. She was in Dr. Jones' meditation chamber. He sat down on a stool in front of her, though in this message he was addressing Rick. Still, she listened. She watched. She missed them. She saw herself as a newborn, and how she progressed with guidance from DATA and the doctor.

She marveled at his theories, of how she came to be, and why she needed Rick, above all. She felt anger at his assertion that Monroe had planted some kind of trigger inside her. What did she _want_ with her?

And then he told Rick what she'd suspected, what she'd hoped, all along. She could carry his child.

Love and hope washed over Michonne as she watched the rest of the doctor's message. It only confirmed what she believed, that Rick was her soul mate. That if there was any hope left in the world, it belonged to them. _They_ were the ones who would live, forever if they had to.

The hologram ended and faded away. Michonne stood, reeling with a renewed sense of determination.

"I want to…." Rick was suddenly behind her, awake, and hard. "Give you a child one day."

Michonne let out a soft gasp as he touched her, stepping into her so that she could feel him thick and heavy against her backside. He planted a gentle kiss on her shoulder. "Will you…?" he breathed.

She quivered deep in her belly as his hand slipped down to her sex. He fingered her open, kissing her again, lower against her shoulder blade. "Have my child…?" he growled, rubbing her clit until she was budding for him, "Say yes, baby," another kiss, lower, causing her to shiver. Rick rubbed his slick hardness between her cheeks, still so dewy and sticky with the aftermath of what he'd done to her earlier.

She nodded. "I can't hear you." He nipped at her ear.

Michonne spread her legs, bending over his chair slightly, grabbing hold of the dense fabric. She hissed out "... _yes!_ " Rick invaded her with a horse grunt. He thrust into her slowly until he bottomed out, touching the tip of the Milky Way. He moaned low and began a steady, indulgent rhythm, touching it again and again with each new invasion.

He looked down to see her lovely ass slapping hard against him as his dick disappeared and reammerged again. He grabbed her, pulling her into him with feverish force, until she was groaning into the chair.

 _Yes_ , he missed this. And _he would have this_ , every night for as long as they had left in this new reality.

Rick pulled out and picked her up. He carried her to the bed, kissing her and squeezing her. She allowed him to lift her and lay her down, but as soon as they were in bed she quickly gained the upper hand.

Rick found himself on his back, Michonne straddling him. He could do nothing but lay back and watch as she eased herself down onto his throbbing shaft and began to ride him. They joined, moaning together in hushed ecstasy as Michonne took all of him deep inside. He thrust into her, she down to him, staring into each other's eyes until they were both lost in the stars.

They continued, Michonne's entire body overflowing with electricity. She felt as though he'd made a home inside her, and he felt consumed by her. They came together, and he could swear she _somehow_ popped the circuits in his bed with her connection to the cloud, changing the glass biowall blue and then green and then bright orange until it blinked out.

Ignoring the lightshow, Rick flipped her over to fill her as he stroked down slow and kissed her tenderly.

When they came down from the stars, they lay naked and sated side-by-side.

Rick gazed over at her in the dark. "You done snoopin' princess?"

She couldn't help but smile, filled with warmth at his revival of her favorite nickname. She nodded, leaning in close to kiss him. "That depends, boss. You done with this beard?"

Rick growled and grabbed her, rolling over with her and planting her with retaliatory kisses. His quick attacks with weaponized lips turned into slow, tender love letters wherever they could reach. He kissed his way to her mouth and ended his assault there, making sure it was thoroughly tamed before letting her go.

"It's gone first thing in the mornin'..." another sweet kiss. "Now, lay here next to me and let me sleep with you."

She obeyed, allowing him to take her in his arms again. She didn't know how to tell him she wouldn't sleep just yet. She had a feeling he might already know. Rick held her, and drifted off. Michonne lay still, closed her eyes, and listened to him, alive and at peace.

She wasn't a hologram. He held her tighter. She wasn't a ghost, or some soulless machine.

She came back to him. She was real. She was Michonne.

Together, they would save the world.

* * *

 _ **P.P.S. - I'm not done yet.**_


End file.
